


Bring it all Back

by Shiggityshwa



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alien Festivals, Alien Flora & Fauna, Alien Pregnancy, Aliens Made Them Do It, Anger fruit, Apocafic, Apocalypse, Body snatching, Cam pov, Deus ex Vala, Established Relationship, Evil bugs kind of, F/M, Groundhog Day, Just a normal day at SGC, Major character death for a chapter, Memory Loss, Off-World, Parasites, Post-Stargate: Continuum, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, SGC missions, Secret Relationship, Sickfic, Temporal loop, Time Loop, Two Daniels, Unplanned Pregnancy, double agent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-06-14 20:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 101,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15397116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiggityshwa/pseuds/Shiggityshwa
Summary: AKA a million things Vala brought back from off-world missions that she really shouldn't have.  Each chapter can be read individually, but there is an overall arc. Has established and sneaky ValaxCam.





	1. Handcuffs

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a stupid fic to get my mind off the dark unending one I'm still in the process of writing, and I really started to like it. Focuses on Vala kicking butt over the course of three years at the SGC. Set post-continuum, I tried to keep it as true as I could.

She comes through the iris all grins and glowing skin despite the three day mission with Teal’c and Sam, Teal’c and Sam who returned yesterday without her and when he asked questions, because that’s what he does, he’s the team leader, the boss and it’s definitely not because he knows how soft her skin is, or that she has a tattoo just under her hip, it’s because he’s the boss and he needs to know these things. Like when a team of three go on a three-day mission and then on the second day return with only two, he’s a little mathematically challenged, but that’s not how it’s supposed to work.

“Where is she?” When he asks, he notices the cut still bleeding from Teal’c’s chin, the dirt smudges in the dips of Sam’s cheeks. “What happened.”

Sam only shakes her head, and the usually speechless Teal’c offers a brief explanation. “We were ambushed, they appeared to be officers of the law. There was no way for all of us to return home uninjured. Before we could discuss our options, Vala Mal Doran drew them away allowing Colonel Carter and I to safely escape.”

Teal’c got his chin stitched, Sam showered and the three of them dialed back into the planet, P3X-452, but the gate sort of blooped at them, and shut down. When they tried again the same thing happened and Walter concluded that the gate had been shut down from the other end.

Vala was stuck and his palms started to sweat against his P-90, he set his jaw and turned back to the conference room, intent on finding a way back. He’d even call Jackson up from his research overseas. He could do that. He was the boss.

Sat up all night at the table flicking her three-diamonded hair barrett between his fingers because she left it in his dorm the last night they spent together. He pulled it from her hair and her curls bounced around his fingers, gathered in his hands as he drew her towards him.

“Cam.” Sam knocked lightly on the ajar door and then took a seat beside him. “You should get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I guess she’ll still be stuck tomorrow, won’t she?” He rested his forehead against the heel of his hand and sighed, “I’m sorry, I know it’s not your fault.”

“She saved our lives, Cam.” Her hand enveloped his, cool thin fingers tapping reassurance. “She didn’t even blink, just fired her gun in the air and took off in the opposite direction. We’d all be dead right now.”

“Yeah she usually doesn’t get credit for her crazy stunts that end up saving our asses.”

“I’ll talk to Landry, make sure that she does.”

Sam stands to leave, and he catches her by the sleeve. “She’s not dead you know.” She only answers with a rueful smile so he elaborates, “She’s probably holed up in some prison having the time of her life seducing the guards.”

When she does return her outfit is a mess. Her jacket is gone and most of her pantlegs are missing turning the BDU uniform into summer booty shorts, her black long-sleeved shirt is rolled to her elbows and her arms and legs are covered with scratches and cuts of various depth and length. Her face is sun soaked golden and a layer of mud cracks on her cheeks. She’s still wearing the pigtails she left with. “Hello darling, miss me?”

It takes everything he has not to scoop her up there, breathe in the three-day wilderness perfumed on her body, pull out the pigtails and drag his fingers through her hair clearing it of dirt clods and debris.

She holds up her wrists contained in cylindric metal cuffs that crunch down onto her skin, eating away almost her entire forearm. “Would you be a gentleman and get a bolt cutter or a dermal saw.” He doesn’t answer her and she swings her arms back down because with that amount of metal, they’re obviously heavy. “Did Samantha and Muscles make it back okay? Could you possibly call her to remove these from me?” She shifts a boney shoulder and shakes the cuffs. “They’re really starting to krump my style.”

“Cramp.” Is the only word he exudes before his voice cracks like he’s back in high school again trying to ask Amy to the dance.

He grins back at her, swallowing hard and wishing the jittery tears away from his eyes. She angles her head to the side, observing him curiously, and jabs him in the ribs with the cuffs.

Later after Sam’s worked her mechanical magic and popped the cuffs off with a hiss, he watched from the door to her lab, not wanting to out them, but still needing to know her hands and arms were still in place, weren’t mangled and sliced up by metal.

And later still, after Lam discharges her from the medical bay with another tetanus shot and bandages around her wrists, he waits in her dorm, on her bed, his hands on his knees.

“Colonel Mitchell,” she greets, swiveling her hips coquettishly like she didn’t just spend a day and a half in some foreign prison. “A personal room call, whatever did—”

“Are you okay?”

Her playful act drops, her eyes a little wide, but she approaches him sitting down in his lap and twisting his hat so the brim is at the back. “I have a clean bill of health.”

“Your wrists?” The bandages are cool under his fingertips. She feels light in his lap.

Bows her head taking in the injuries. “Just a little sensitive from the cuffs is all.”

He cushions his head against her chest, and hears the steady, ordinary thump of her heart and it might be his favorite sound.

“Cameron.”

Wants to tell her not to risk herself anymore. But that would be hypocritical. Wants to tell her he loves her, but that would be too serious.

Her fingers rake through his hair and her chest pulses with a large sigh. “I know,” she answers his unvoiced concerns.


	2. Water Bug

Since teams ten to fifteen have been drafted to Atlantis to help protect against the Wraith attacks, the rest of the teams are spread pretty thin. Daniel’s still finishing up his research on the Clava Thessara Infinitas, and still can’t tell him if it’s actually real or not. When he asked Vala about it last night while the football game played in the background she shrugged, wearing his jersey, and kept eating more than her half of the nachos. Sam is on Atlantis trying to keep Woolsey, Shepperd and McKay from spontaneously combusting before the Wraith invasion, leaving Teal’c and Vala to tail other teams when they require an extra member or two.

This time they return as a team, and with no injuries. He greets them in the gate room because he’s sort of the boss of all the teams now and while he’s glad no one died, and they completed the task he doled out, he doesn’t hold the same loyalty to them as he does with team one. Nods at her and her slack face grows into a small grin, both her and Teal’c look exhausted, but they’ve been pulling the duties of several teams for the last week.

Happens to be finishing up some paperwork outside of the medical bay, approving the paternity leave of an SG-7 member, knowing that she’s going to have to fill that spot sometime, and the probability becomes higher that one of these days he’s going to send her out on a mission that’s going to kill her.

She exits and almost walks straight by him, until he reaches out his hand and clicks his pen against her arm. “How’d the medical examination go, Princess?”

“Cameron.” She startles a bit after his sentence, her movements are languid, like she’s swimming through water, very thick water. “I’m sorry darling, I’m just a bit tired right now.”

Slows his pace to walk beside her, swerving around cadets running to meet the shift change. “Other than that, everything okay?”

“Dr. Lam took some blood, but the cultures came back as negative.” She does her best to grin up at him, but it’s not toothy, it’s not true and it makes him more cautious. “I think we’re all feeling the effects, it was five days in a boggy river.”

“Yeah the big guy looks like he could stand to catch a few Zs too.” His voice echoes into the stairwell and the stomping of their feet drowns out any conversation they could have.

However, once he opens the door to her dorm floor for her, she bats her eyes at him, still wearing the half smile, and asks with the falsest innocence he’s ever heard, “why Colonel Mitchell, are you telling me I don’t look good?”

When she presses by him to turn into the hallway he leans in, making sure his breath is hot in her ear. “You always look good to me, baby.”

She giggles, and he wants to take her hand in his, tug her close and kiss the top of her head, but if they’re found out it’s either the job or her, and her job or him and if they both don’t choose the same thing, then they’re kind of screwed.

“I still have a few hours of paperwork to do.” She fumbles for her cardkey at her door and he grabs his pass, doesn’t have much pull, won’t have any alien space crafts named after him, but he can tell the passcode guy what to give him access too. He scans it and in a lower voice adds, “can I drop by after?”

“I will definitely be asleep by then, darling.” Her hand raises, reaches to touch the side of his face, probably the area where he didn’t shave quiet as well because five days with a check-in once a day is a long time to wait. But she catches herself, and the corner of her lips tick. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ll see you then. Goodnight, Princess.”

*

He’s going through an approval to switch teams, apparently Rodriguez and Walton from team six have been butting heads and causing all kinds of annoying problems by being buttkisses. One put in a requisition to transfer to team one and he laughs, thinking of how Teal’c would end him with a glare. Instead he transfers one out to team ten on Atlantis and the other one to team nine that is currently helping clean up PXF-294 after a cyclone hit a major city hard. He pulls out the next form, which is another request for parental leave from SG-7. What exactly are they feeding these boys?

He approves it, then redoes the forms for Rodriguez sending him to SG-7 instead of 9. He tidies up the papers, setting them in his outbox for the peppy office assistant to grab, when his phone goes off. It’s already ten o’clock and when he sleeps in Vala’s dorm he’s got to be out by three in the morning at the latest. Landry is an early riser, and once commed him over the PA system when he didn’t answer the private line in his room.

“Hello.” Tries not to groan into the phone but it’s late and he doesn’t hold it in well.

“Cameron?” Vala’s voice is clear but shaky on the other end.

“Yeah, honey, I’m sorry I’m on my way down. I hope you didn’t wait up for—”

“Cameron, I have a problem.”

*

She can’t see. None of SG-3 can. He jumped through her door as it opened and spent the next few minutes alternating between waving his hand in front of her eyes and flashing Morse code at her face with he flashlight on his cellphone. The final time he asked if she could see, her voice cracked, and the first tear fell.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” He cradled her head to his shoulder and wiped away the tears on her face. “I think we should get you to Lam.”

Held her hand through their jaunt in the hallway. It was late without many personnel around, but if anyone questioned him, he’d explain about her sudden medical issue. Her steps were precarious as she learned to trust his directions, when to stop, when to turn.

By the time they made it to the medical bay most of the other team members from the last mission, including Teal’c, were already present. Most of Vala’s eyes had glazed over white and he tried not to stare.

“Cameron.” Wrapped her cool arms around his pressing palm flat in the space between her legs. Almost everyone in the room was blind, and everyone else was medical staff concerned with the six blind soldiers, so it didn’t matter much right now. “What if I don’t get my sight back.”

“You will.” He reached behind them, stealing a blanket from a supply cart and draped it across her shoulders.

“What if I don’t.”

“We’ll get you a seeing eye dog.” His arm fell to her shoulders trying to warm her. “No that’s too ordinary. How about a seeing eye pony.”

“A pony?” She lit up, the top of her head just missing his chin as she bounced. “Do you promise.”

“I promise if you can never see again, I will personally buy you the pony.”

*

When she starts to fall asleep on him, that’s when he notices it, the bump. At this point, he knows her body pretty well, they’ve spent enough time fooling around in the dark for him to be able to tell when a bone is jutting out too much, or when a curve is present and shouldn’t. This one is new, and bulky and it doesn’t move when she moves her neck.

Points it out to Lam on her next pass, the doctor still showing good face despite being exhausted, and at first, she balks at the idea of a connection, but when it’s warm to touch she’s drawn like a moth to a flame.

One CT scan later and they find it. A parasite, some sort of water bug/tick hybrid that clamped onto their spinal cords during their nights in the bog. The bugs have to be removed with surgery, but it’s brief and takes more time to anaesthetize Teal’c than it does to remove the bug.

She wakes up first, as she volunteered to be the guinea pig and be put under first, and her eyes are the same beautiful blue, or gray, that they always are. He’s the first thing she sees and despite his entire night without sleep he greets her with a big goofy grin. “Moring Princess.”

“Dammit.” His hand tightens on her knee, afraid the surgery didn’t take, but she swoops her head quickly pressing her lips to his in a blink of a kiss. “I really wanted that pony.”


	3. Death Warrant

He wants it to be a normal day, but he knows it’s not gonna be. He knows that it’s going to be a lot of hours reorganizing the teams, Atlantis is still under attack, PXF-294 got hit with another cyclone in another prominent city and while he valiantly volunteered Earth’s brightest scientists to analyze the planet’s weather patterns, they refused him, offended that Earth scientists might be better than PXF-294 scientists and basically told them all the SGC was good for was the scut work of digging through debris for bodies.

That and as the iris flashes to life and the kawoosh burps away, and his team, well half of his team and six guys from SG-9 that he doesn’t know from Adam, walk down the platform with clomping boots, he knows he’s in for a doozy. He slaps his hand down on Teal’c shoulder welcoming him back and the other man begins to give him what he thinks is a scowl, but it fades away with an audible sigh. “That was an experience, Colonel Mitchell.”

And for a blessed few seconds he really doesn’t know what’s happened, all the guys dragging their feet and communicating in angry half mumbles until she walks by, completely clean when compared to the others’ sullen BDUs, all grins and bouncy with her footsteps, only she’s not in her uniform, she’s in a pair of bright orange coveralls and her hair is done up in a modest bun.

“Vala—”

“Hello, darling.” She preens over him with words because they’re still on the hush, if tradition has anything to say about it, she’ll kiss him tonight like she wanted to now.

“What happened to your uniform?” Notices her trying to scurry away, falling in between two of the guys, but she sticks out like a sore thumb, bright and agile.

Without much effort he reaches forward, hooking a finger around the collar of her coveralls, yanking her back, stationary and in place. She huffs not turning to look at him. “I misplaced them.”

“And why did you misplace them?” He rounds to the front of her, knowing she’ll stay in place. Knowing he’ll get about eighty percent of the truth from her and fill in the blanks with Teal’c.

“Because they took them from me.” Her voice is still coy, still holds a semblance of playfulness but her eyes refuse to meet his.

“Who took them from you exactly?”

There’s a long pause, and he doesn’t move. The clipboard he’s holding with an ever growing ‘to-do’ list threatens to slip from his fingers and he still doesn’t move. Anchors himself on wide strutted feet and waits for it because he’s learned if he’s patient enough, she’ll let him know the truth.

She groans in defeat and spits out, “the police.”

“Why did the police take your uniform.” She plumps her lips together, briefly catching his eyes and then flits her attention elsewhere again. “Vala, were you in prison?”

Again.

Was she in prison again?

She doesn’t answer and their both biding time, waiting for the other to tire of waiting. He’s going to be up until tomorrow fixing all the cracks between the teams and trying to figure out who to send to Atlantis as backup and what to do about PXF-snobby ass idiots, but all that seems less complicated than the truth. Hell, he could go ask Teal’c what happened get a straight story, write up his mission summary and have it on Landry’s desk in an hour, and then never talk to her about it again, but he needs to know, and she needs to know that he needs to know.

“Vala—”

Eyes draw to him again and she squints, perhaps a preventative measure to the classic Jackson explosion. She brings her index finger and her thumb to rest and inch apart. “Perhaps just a squish.”

“Again.” There isn’t even disbelief in his voice because this is the third time in a month she’s ended up in an off-world prison. He doesn’t even know how many times it makes it this year. Usually she can crack herself out pretty quickly, but once or twice after a failed escape attempt or two he’s gotten a collect call from a random planet prison with her bail amount and sometimes the promise that she never returns to the planet. He’s had the perky office assistant make a spreadsheet with planets she can’t go back to.

“Again.” She echoes and starts walking when he bows back to keep company at her side.

“Vala—” How does this keep happening? What do you keep doing for this to happen? Is there any way he can stop it from happening so often or at all? “Are you okay?”

“Fine Cameron.” Grins at him and he lets their hands brush in the strut of their walk. “It was actually one of the better prisons I’ve been in.”

“How much did it cost to get you out?” Makes a new bullet on his list to send an apology-o-gram or something to the planet. They still might be able to repair relations.

“Just the rest of the mission expense budget.” He stops walking and after three steps she notices his absence, pivoting on her foot, her hands on her hips. “Are you saying I’m not worth that much, Colonel Mitchell.”

She is. Of course, she is. Any of them are. But now he’s going to have to fumble his way through explaining to Landry how they lost a little less than fifty grand bailing her ass out of jail when I should’ve been sent towards purchasing land for a small outpost. Tries to keep his eyes from rolling, tries not to grip his pen so tensely. He’s not sure he’s upset with her or with the situation.

Her lips purse when he takes his first step, again he thinks it’s a pre-Jackson exploding flinch, but she holds the expression, backing up a step. “That’s not really the worse part.”

“Okay, Vala—” Is very aware he’s saying her name too much, but he has to keep reminding himself who he’s talking to so he doesn’t go off. “What’s the worse part?”

She steps forward handing him a piece of stained paper folded in quarters. When he opens it her face and the words ‘warrant for death’ greet him in big block letters. Her picture is exactly like the one from his high school reunion, the snared lipped nervous half grin and if it were any less of a critical situation he’d chuckle.

“What the hell did you do?”  Folds the paper, the poster which legalizes killing her, and shoves it into one of his pockets.

“I didn’t do anything—”

“They want you dead, Vala.” He spins around, preforming his own Jackson explosion and she recoils at the suddenness. A soldier eyes them, their awkward stances, as he passes. They watch him go, and when the corridor is empty for a moment he tugs on her hand gently. “They want you dead.”

His words flick a switch in her and the truth starts pouring out.

“When I was working for the Lucien Alliance, I ran what was supposed to be an easy smuggling operation on the planet. They’re on the boarder before going into old Goa’uld territories so it was easy to use my influence as Qetesh and easier to get Naquadah. I didn’t harm anyone, I only took things that weren’t mine which is basically just one of my character traits at this point.”

“What happened to warrant your death.”

There isn’t even enough pause for him to gather in a breath.

“The man I was working with, my partner, he had a very cruel streak. Qetesh cruel. He tortured, murdered dozens of citizens to gain compliance from them before I knew what he was doing. He died in an uprising, but they wanted me dead as well, perhaps because of association or perhaps just revenge.”

Her eyes are glassy but stark and she’s putting in a lot of effort to keep the twitch from her lips. “So you can see why the large amount for bribery was necessary.”

“It’s okay.” He reassures her. Reassures himself. It’s just money. In the end that’s all it is, and when he writes his mission report he’ll stress that this planet may be too precarious to approach for political purposes. He makes note of it on his clipboard.

“We’ll just add it in to your blackgated planets, okay?” In the end he would pay any amount from pocket to get her home safe. “Just—don’t go back there, okay?”

“I have a list of blackgated planets.”

“Oh yeah.”

They continue their trek down the hall, though the speed is slower and the destination not that important anymore.

“How many planets.”

“I think this makes it two dozen.”

She banks into him, shoving him into the opposite wall and he laughs. Then remembers her face on the death poster and laughs harder. Today might be a good day.


	4. Cargo Ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick update on this story. It was originally supposed to be ten chapters long, and I wrote them and then I wanted to write more, so I mulled over some more ideas, and then wrote six more chapters.  
> And then I wanted to write more. So I wrote two more chapters, and I have about two dozen more ideas in the works and while I doubt all of them will get written, I consider this a work in progress until I tire of the story line. 
> 
> Oh and after this chapter, the word count takes a dramatic increase so the chapters will range from 5-10 pages instead of 3. 
> 
> Also if you have any suggestions for what you'd like to see in a chapter, feel free to let me know. I'm always open to suggestions

A few months later, the same thing happens again. Not the death warrant, thank God not the death warrant again, but if there are more issued he can start a little collection, get them all framed and hang them in the spare bedroom or something. For Christmas he might get one done of up him and give it to her. No, not as bad as the death warrant but just as bad as when she returned with the handcuffs. SG-7 left her on the planet and when he’s making up itineraries for the teams he’s going to have to add a bullet that says ‘make sure your buddy is present’ because the amount of times she gets left behind is about the same as the times she comes home.

He stands, clipboard in hand, ready to take attendance like some gym teacher dressed in just a plain black shirt and his BDU pants.

Her name is left unchecked again.

“Hey Rodriguez,” he calls over the new transfer because that’s the first name he thinks of, “where’s Vala?”

“She got stuck behind in the market place. Told us we should leave without her.” Rodriguez is young, almost too young to be on a SG team, so he doesn’t say anything. He’ll need to start writing ‘do not let Vala make her own itinerary’ at the bottom of the itineraries.

She’s just shopping, at least that’s what he tells himself, so he’s fine with it. It’s what she does besides steal, the two sort of go hand in hand because if she’s stealing stuff nothing is off the plate. He gives her until the end of the day, and then he’ll let himself worry.

*

At the end of the day he panics because she’s not back yet and what the hell was he even thinking? He should have been worrying the whole time, but no he had to play it cool. He thinks about reporting it into Landry knowing that both he and she will be reprimanded if she turns up. He can’t just go looking for her, there has to be at least two people to go on off-world missions, which is the rule they should’ve followed in the first place. He blames SG-7, he blames Rodriguez, he blames himself.

He never blames Vala.

About to go hammer a nail in his coffin and explain what he let happen to Landry, when one of the walkies on his desk lights up, through the empty waves he hears her voice. “Hello, SG-7? Rodriguez, Pfeiffer? Major Dumbass?”

Snatches the walkie from his desk. “It’s Major Dumas, Princess.”

“Cameron.” She sounds delighted over the stilted sound and he can hear her grin. “What are you doing with the boys of SG-7?”

“The boys are back on base, Vala, where you should be.”

There’s static and then nothing and his fingers tap the top of his desk impatiently and he counts the stars on the flag hanging across the back wall of his office to distract him.

“Yes. Well, I’ve stumbled across a small problem of sorts.”

“What kind of small problem, Vala?”

“What I told the boys to do was to meet me.”

“No, you didn.t”

“No, you’re absolutely right, I didn’t.”

He jams the walkie against his forehead, moving his lips to mumble the words that he doesn’t say. “So, what is it?”

“They shut the gate down for—”

“Vala, they did not—”

“Just shut up and let me talk.” His lips shadow more words as he paces around the room, his back towards the door waiting for her to continue. “Have you finished miming mean words at me.”

“Yep.”

“I’ve found an alternative mode of transportation back to Earth.”

“Vala no—”

“I’ll see you soon, darling.”

*

She crashes her cargos ship, stolen of course, into the drill field outside of the mountain at four in the morning. He’s already waiting for her, knowing she’ll be tumbling from the sky sooner or later because how the hell else is she going to make it back home.

He’s sitting on the hood of his jeep, swigging a bottle of beer and he hears the decent of the sputtering ship, kept under cloaking of course, then witnesses the first strike down of the ship, the first bounce, the second strike, the second bounce and until it skids a dark scar into the finely kept field. There’s visible smoke billowing from seemingly nothing, and the sound of metal stretching, of engines giving up, then just sizzling.

He chugs back his beer, wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and sets the bottle on the ground beside the front tire. As he crosses the few yards between vehicles, he hears the side hatch hiss open, black smoke billowing from inside, and she stumbles out, a long gait of foot barely in front of foot, with her arm flung around her mouth coughing up a storm.

“Hi honey,” he greets but his voice is terse. There’s a visible fire in the back of the ship and as she stumbles towards him, he grabs her by the bicep half guiding her through the smoke, half dragging her away.

“I can explain,” she rasps between her coughing.

Directs her away from the smoking heap that the boys in public relations are going to have a field day trying to spin, and opens the passenger door for her, to drive her back to the base for debriefing, and probably a pretty severe reprimand. “Kinda not in the mood to hear it right now, Princess.”

 “The Lucien Alliance—” she keeps coughing, covering her mouth and attempting to suck in breaths, until he lifts her arms in the air. She inhales shuddering, but deep, and exhales. “Thank you.”

“The Lucien Alliance what?”

“They had plans to trail the Stargate back to Earth and send in a bomber.” Coughs and clears her throat, her eyes watering just a bit against the glow of the engine fire she started. “Just needed the destination set.

“So, you had to find an alternative way home.”

“Exactly.”

“It doesn’t explain why you left SG-7.”

“Cameron, are you really going to tell me that you wouldn’t trail two members of the Lucien Alliance on a weapons commerce planet.”

She’s right, he would, and he feels bad for judging, for letting the who she was when she moonwalked out of the iris and into the mountain almost four years ago still affect what he thinks of her now. Hell, she’s proven herself through self-sacrifice almost half a dozen times at this point, but it doesn’t mean she didn’t break protocol. “You know Landry is going to lose his shit.”

“Let him, no one blew up, that’s all that matters.”

He grins at her and the wreckage crackles just as four army jeeps screech to a halt tearing up more of the pristine grass. Before they notice, she pecks her fingertip and bops him on the nose. Over a dozen men leap out of the vehicle, P-90s drawn at the wreckage and ready to fire.

“Oh, at ease,” Vala rolls her eyes and swivels around him, hand on her hips marching towards them.

They train their weapons on her, and when she still treads towards them, he hooks her by the elbow swinging her to stand behind him. “Better do what the lady says, boys


	5. Daniel (Twice)

Jackson comes back with new information about the Clava Thessara Infinitas and a laundry list of planets that he wants to check. Wants to get started right away, demands they get started right away, trails him in the hallway stumbling through a very lengthy Jackson ramble that he tunes out halfway through and doesn’t realize the doctor is still talking until he asks a question.

“Umm, I don’t know?”

He ducks into his office to snag his ‘to-do’ list that he scratched together last night in bed while Vala watched a discovery channel documentary on humpback whales. Her feet thumped into the pillow beside him, the legs of the oversized flannel pajamas she wore tumbled down to her knees. Every few minutes she would crank her head back at him and ask if the whales were real or if it was just an animated movie. He’s started arranging a weekend visit to Maine to whale watch in the spring and has no idea how he’s going to smuggle her along.

“Mitchell,” Daniel still trots behind, still talking. When he takes a hard left to duck out of the way he calls again. “Have you really not been listening to me this whole time?”

“Look, Jackson—” he begins, and this was exactly how he treated Vala for her first few months at the mountain. Avoidance with no direct answers and basically just tearing down the first hallway he saw when she approached from the opposite direction. “The teams are all busy.”

“I understand there are important—”

It’s not a drastic cause right now. The rock hopping space colony that they finally pulled from San Francisco Bay needs their attention, helping the whiny ass planet after their third cyclone is a priority, securing outposts along the boarder and establishing political relations with foreign planets is important. Treasure hunting after some halfwit former system lord’s cache of rubies isn’t. “Why don’t you sign up to go help on Atlantis, you love it there, Sam’s already there and by the time you get back someone will be ready to go with you.”

“Why don’t you come with me.”

“Because, Sunshine, I haven’t had a day off in over three months. I’m still working on what needed to be done ten days ago.” He flashes his list, which isn’t as long as Daniel’s, but he can brag that it is way less organized and that his handwriting is worse.

“What about Teal’c”

“He’s with SG-9 trying to save our asses against the whiney bastards.” Sent Teal’c because he’s calmer, less likely to snap when the emperor, or whatever he was, belittles him for his intelligence, or his lack of technological advancement, or his barbaric battle implements. Sent him because when he sends Vala half the time she doesn’t come back.

“And Vala?”

“You want to take Vala?” His pen stills on his list because it’s Vala’s day off today and he knows exactly where she is, waiting in her room for him to finish his morning rounds and paperwork to have lunch, probably reading a book she took out from the library. Maybe she’s trying knitting again.

“If it lets me explore a planet that we need in order to defund one of the last remaining system lords today instead of in two weeks, then yes, I’ll put up with Vala’s prattling.”

“Nice words to your future exploring partner.”

“So, you’ll spare her?”

“You’ll have to ask, it’s her rest day.”

Daniel scoffs, pushing the glasses back up his nose and crossing his arms, the whole thing feels very belittling and he wishes Teal’c were here right now. “We’ll be in the gate room in an hour.”

*

Sure enough, he meets them in the gate room, and Vala is lacing up her boots, foot balanced on the wall and knee pushing into her chest because Daniel’s taken up the bench with all his science bullshit. He glares at the back of the archaeologist’s head, but then grins at her. She grins back, dropping the laces from one of her hands and waving.

“Why are you waving at him?” Daniel glances up from trying to fit too much equipment into one pack and it’s going to overflow into hers. Should leave a note on the itinerary for her to chuck her pack if she’s being chased.

“Because I haven’t seen him yet today.” It’s a lie, Landry’s doing General things in Washington so he got to wake up next to her, a rare occurrence, her body tangled around his, almost laying on top of his, her arm and hair smothering his face. It was perfect.

Daniel squints his eyes at her, and then shoots him a look like he knows something is off, but not what. Not knowing is what’s bugging Jackson, not the hands-on approach with the woman he refused one to many times, just the idea of not being able to crack the code.

“Itineraries.” He holds out the single piece of paper to each of them, the same set of instructions printed for both, a happy face emoticon included at the end of hers.

“Since when do we have itineraries?” Daniel snatches his, speedreading it before he can answer.

“Since I’ve got nine teams of guys running around like chickens with their heads cut off.” On cue Daniel starts packing the overflow into her bag, she obediently turns her back and her body jolts with the sharp shoves of his hands. He crosses his arms and she rolls her eyes at him. “Your approved for no more than twelve hours.”

“Twelve—”

“I’m accompanying Teal’c to a monastery tomorrow to try to forge a partnership.”

“You’re sending her to a monastery?”

“The monks haven’t seen a pretty lady in years, and she’s the prettiest here.” Daniel doesn’t see the way she shies away when truly complimented, doesn’t see the red creep into her pale cheeks or her head bow. “That is, unless you’d like to volunteer, Sunshine.”

“Twelve hours, got it.”

“And check-in every two.”

“Two what?”

“Two hours.”

“How am I supposed to get any work done if I’m comming you every two hours?”

“Well Daisy here has a penchant for going missing, so Landry wants a check-in from both of you every two hours.” Landry doesn’t even know he’s sending them, told him not to reach out unless it was an Earth attack scale of an emergency. He wants her to check-in, so she actually makes the rendezvous point this time. Wants her to check-in because he knows how she gets around Daniel, thinking with a helpful heart instead of a practical mind. He knows how Daniel gets with her, knows he has value to her, not in the same relationship type value they share, but Daniel was her first friend, might be her best friend and the fact that he treats her like crap sometimes makes him furious if he dwells on it too long.

“After I brought you back that lovely cargo ship,” she pouts, and he wants to nip at her lower lip, lift her into the air and rip off the boots she still hasn’t finished tying.

“Yeah and the blindness parasite.”

“The what?”

*

Amazingly, they manage to check in every two hours. Well, Vala does.

“Now he’s obsessing over some crevice in the wall that he thinks will lead to a secret chamber.” He can hear her balled fist against her face in her boredom. Pictures her sitting, maybe filing her nails, maybe grabbing something shiny from the sand and shoving it in her back pocket, while Daniel holds out a book like a dowering rod and tries to make heads or tails of scratches in the rocks.

“I’m not obsessing.” Daniel is barely audible, but her sigh doesn’t escape his ears. He forgot how these two get when they’re together. He worried about playing second fiddle, a part of him still does. Daniel was her first pick, not even pick really, just her first interest, and he’ll always have that in the back of his head. But they chose each other, just a natural thing that happened almost a year ago and now the rare nights when he has to sleep alone he’s uneasy, misses the shape of her in his bed.

“Darling, you are far beyond obsessing.” She scoffs. There’s a brief feed of static before her voice picks up again. “Also, I know when there’s hidden recesses with treasure abound and I can tell you professionally, that is just a crack in the wall.”

“Vala, if you not going to—”

“Cameron, darling, it is just a crack in the wall.”

“I’ll have to take your professional opinion of it.” He scratches down to ask about the crack later. They’re due back by 20:00. After debriefing, and the regulatory health checks and a shower, it’ll be nearing ten again when he sneaks into her room.

*

They miss the fifth check-in, the tenth hour one. Maybe that crack really did lead to somewhere. Maybe Daniel’s reading aloud an ancient curse bringing zombies to life and Vala is filling each pocket on her BDU outfit full of gold doubloons. A more likely answer is Daniel got mad at her, they forgot to turn off the walkie, and the battery drained.

Half of him chides not to worry about it, they’re two of his team members, both have been in the face of danger several times, both have died at least once, he supposed that is kind of reassuring because they’ve both come back.  

He holds his walkie in hand and taps the antennae against his bottom lip. Half of him remembers the last time when he didn’t worry about her until it was too late, and she crash-landed in the drill field like the biggest cloud of swamp gas this side of Roswell. He clicks the walkie and opens his mouth but exhales and clicks it off. His fingers tap the table, his shoes tap the floor, the antennae taps his chin and as he motions to speak again her voice rings out.

“Cameron.”

“Vala.” His answer is too quick.

“We have a problem.”

His least favorite sentence. “What kind of problem?”

“I can’t particularly explain it to you right now—”

“Vala—”

“But we’ll be home soon enough.”

“Vala, please tell me you’re going to use the stargate.”

“Of course, darling, how else would we make it back?”

*

Waits at the gate starting fifteen minutes before 20:00. Stands astride with his arms crossed and the clipboard digging into his chest. The attendance sheet he has to check off has only two names and he doesn’t know why he brought the damn thing down, but it’s starting to become a necessary piece of his uniform like a communicator or a passkey.

The gate whirs to life, the iris rippling into place and Vala walks through looking in the same physical health and appearance as she did twelve hours ago, she doesn’t smile but pulls that ‘we’re in trouble’ face where her lips disappear, and her eyes grow like saucers. Daniel isn’t that far behind her, arguing, he thinks to her, trying to devalue her opinion with his facts, just the usual diatribe.

But then another figure slips through the gate after Daniel, who is also arguing, and wearing a black shirt and BDU pants, who also carries another huge ancient text.

Who is also Daniel.

“There’s—” He lifts his hand slowly to the Daniels now walking side by side and arguing in earnest, not even a scholarly debate, more like a schoolyard fight. They lead with the same foot, tilt their heads the same way, tuck the book under the same arm, and both push their glasses up at the same time.

“Oh yeah.” She stands beside him, arms crossed mimicking his stance and he read an article at lunch that said couples comfortable with each other will start subconsciously copying each other’s actions and she makes him smile. “Welcome to my last four hours in hell.”

“How did this happen?”

Cups her hands around her mouth when their arguments evolve to the next level of noisiness.  “Hey.”

“Vala, was that really—”

“Vala, don’t interr—”

“You boys tell Cameron how this happened.”

“That’s not important right now.” The first Daniel sets his text on the ground and stoops to tie his boots.

“Exactly.” The second Daniel stoops, grabbing the loose lace of his own shoe and follows suit. “What’s important is how to get rid of the copy.”

“You’re the copy.”

“I am not the copy, you are.”

“No, you are.”

“Noooo. You are.”

He whistles with his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, just as he would when he was calling in the cows from pasture back on the farm. Both Daniels stop and rolls their eyes at him, while Vala arches an eyebrow at the hidden talent. “So, you were cloned?”

They both start into a ramble off the explanation and he’s never regretted asking a question as much. They start correcting each other, and then trying to discredit the other’s perspective. Vala touches his wrist, cold fingers against his pulse to get his attention. “He walked into a room I told him not to, the door slammed behind him and when it opened there was two of him.”

Two scoffs come from his left and when he glances back both Daniels have their arms crossed. “Okay, so this is easy, we just find out which one is our Jackson and axe the other one.”

“What?”

“What?”

Both Daniels stop in mid argument, their eyes growing large at the threat, and then turn into a narrow-eyed glare. If one Daniel doing this egged him on, two Daniels almost gives him practical reason to draw his gun in defense.

Vala is more openminded than him, maybe because it’s Daniel, maybe because she knows what it’s like to have her personality and body stolen. “You can’t kill the copy.”

“Why not? Won’t having two Daniels throw the universe out of whack or something?”

“It hasn’t so far,” the first Daniel argues as the second points a finger at his clone in agreement.

“It’s only been four hours,” he grumbles. If they both follow him down the hall in the morning asking to visit another laundry list planet, at least they can go together, and probably end up murdering each other in biblical fashion.

“It doesn’t matter, they’re completely identical in mind and body.”

Completely identical in mind and—“In body?”

“Relax, darling,” Taps his shoulder gently and both Daniels raise the same questioning eyebrow. She swivels in a small circle around them. If he didn’t know better, meaning what the Daniels probably _think_ she’s doing is eyeballing them sexually, but he knows her, and knows she’s trying to pick out mistakes in the counterfeit. “What I mean is both Daniels have had their appendixes out.”

He doesn’t want to know. He really doesn’t want to know. Asking will only bring pain. Don’t ask. “How do you—”

“I’ve dealt with a Daniel clone before.”

“What?” Expects this to be one of those things she jokes about that really shouldn’t be a joke, but she passes off as one.

“Mitchell, when Ba’al infiltrated the SGC with his clones.”

“Yeah, a clone of me shot O’Neill.”

The Daniels continue weaving their story, overlapping details, something about blowing up Ba’al’s base, and being on the Sun Tzu. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, where was I?”

“You were on a secret Sodan mission.”

“That you refused to drop details of.”

It’s like having twins. It’s like parenting the pair of most annoying twins in the universe.

“You never did tell us what you and Muscles were up to.”

They were on vacation. Went to a resort on a high-end planet, visited a casino, saw some shows, learned a few new fighting tips, met some lovely ladies, none lovelier than the one at his side now. “Still classified, Princess.” She pouts, and he loves it. “So what are we going to do with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum here?”

“Ha-ha, Mitchell.”

“Vala doesn’t even get the—”

“Yes, I do, I’ve read the book.”

“When?”

The arguing flares up again, this time with Vala defending herself because she has read the book. Learned about wonderland somehow and he picked her up a copy from a used bookstore and she read him a chapter each night before bed. It is not a children’s book. He slaps a hand over his eyes because it has to be nearing if not past 2100 and he just wants to be Daniel free. “I’m just going to shoot one of you.”

“Oh, not it.” Her hand bursts into the air, and he shoots her a look, a mixture of don’t prolong this and I would never shoot you.

“Tomorrow me and, well, me will go back to the planet and see what exactly that device did.”

She leans her head against his shoulder, her voice raspy, “Oh Cameron, what if four of them come back?”

“No. We’re done talking today. Debriefing over, go get Lam to check you over. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.” He juts a thumb to the door and the Daniels start up again before they even leave the gate room. If push comes to shove he can exile one of them to Atlantis. “But if the universe starts to go to crap before then, I’m shooting a Daniel.”  


	6. Panties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please note this is where the story deviates from its original path, so if there are continuity errors, I apologize.   
> Also rather than following the trope of sending the Daniel clone 'away', I chose to make him a main character because it adds good humor.

He’s not there to greet her this time around. She’s only been gone for five days, but it seems more like a month. Sits waiting at his desk for her to bound in with that grin and tell him she wants to play volleyball or go go-carting or try yogurt with fruit on the bottom. When she’s gone his monotonous workday drags on and without windows in his office, sometimes he glances at the clock and it says four he doesn’t know if it’s AM or PM.

Used to travel off base on days like this a year ago when they first started dating. Would drive home and grab a burger, or some good barbeque takeout, a six pack and head inside to find a marathon on TNT or something. Fall asleep on the couch, drag his ass up at five for a run, and then start all over again. If it was his day off he’d do some yard work, maybe check to see if the TNT marathon was still on, and then back at it the next day.

Now it’s hard to leave if she’s not with him. The same thing that makes him uneasy about her leaving through the gate distracts him when he grabs his car keys. What if they need him here? What if she needs him here to tell him that she’s going to crash a goddamn cargo ship in their backyard.

When she and Teal’c and the Daniels, who demanded to be dragged along to the monastery after learning of the mission—more likely she said, to try out the way of life and he snickered at her while swigging back a beer—walk into the gate room he’s not there and isn’t informed of their return.

He’s with Lam as she explains, again, how all the boys on SG-3 ended up with food poisoning when two of them don’t even eat meat. Asks her to explain it again and she sighs, rolling her eyes at him and tells him to just bench the team until next week, that she’ll do another check-up by then. She also makes a comment about how a lot of his teams are ending up in her care and to keep a better eye on them.

That, that puts him in a sour mood, but he keeps his tongue because his momma always told him not to lash out at a lady, so he nods and takes her criticisms and walks out into the hallway his lips miming words again as he leans against the wall and crosses SG-3s medical issues off his to-do list.

“Colonel Mitchell.” Two privates stand to his left just grazing the wall, waiting for his eyes to draw up from his clipboard before continuing. “SG-1 are back from P3R-668.”

“Thanks.” Checks his watch and it says three and he doesn’t know what that means anymore or what date it is. Doesn’t even remember if they’re scheduled for coming home this soon, so he doesn’t know what he’s in for. “They all relatively normal?”

“What do you mean, Sir?”

“No one missing, no injuries, no one doubled or tripled?”

“Everyone is in good spirits, Sir.”

“One Jackson or two?”

“Two, Sir.”

“Dammit.” Thought the Jacksons would gladiator-style fight each other to the death by now. Distractedly, he picks at things on his list, rearranging importance to make room for SG-1’s return. “They all waiting in debriefing?”

The one soldier cracks, a snicker before checking himself, pursing his lips and standing ramrod straight again.

“Problem, soldier?”

“No Sir.”

“Something funny about them waiting in debriefing.”

The soldier chuckles again and now his clipboard gets set under his arm. He follows Teal’c’s suggestion for looking intimidating, hands clasped behind his back and his chin jutted out. “Want to fill me in on the joke?”

“It’s nothing—”

A single glance to the other soldier gets him to crack. “When the team got into the gate room one of the Dr. Jacksons pulled out a pair of panties from his pocket and handed it back to Ms. Mal Doran.”

Tries not to miss the beat but he misses it so hard it may as well be a completely different conversation now. “Is that so?”

The first soldier scoffs now. “Please sir, you know how she can be with men.”

“No. I don’t. How can she be?” His voice is calm, too calm and he doesn’t remember it being this calm unless the ship he’s on is about to explode or smack down onto some nice Antarctic ice.

“Well, she’s not subtle.” The first one chuckles again and after a sigh from his partner he straightens up. “Sir.”

*

Catches Teal’c in the hallway on his way to host the debriefing, but apparently all the parties have already scattered. “Hey Big Guy, were we a big hit at the church?”

“It was a monastery, Colonel Mitchell,” Teal’c corrects and he’s worked with him long enough to sense the edginess in his voice. “And they will not be privy to hosting anyone else from Stargate Command.”

“We bombed that badly?” He crosses his arms and tries to keep the panty gossip out of his mind because he knows there’s a rational reason beside the one his paranoia keeps throwing at him. “Anything in particular or was it just one big no go?”

“I believe the drunken table dancing was the fodder that broke the dromedary’s spinal column.”

Teal’c leaves him with the thought of her drunk on monk wine and swiveling her hips with her hair all wild and her cheeks all flushed. The gorgeous pink color running down her neck to her chest and if she did that thing, that back arch thing—he tries to calm himself. Just because he’s seen her drunk and dancing doesn’t mean that she’s that way every time, but then one of the Jackson’s had her panties which completely disproves that theory and he’s angry.

Very angry.

Real fucking angry.

*

Locks himself in his office leaving the debriefing for tomorrow hopefully after he’s had a night and a morning run to calm down. He knows Vala, trusts her and she must have had a reason, a real good fucking reason, to drunk table dance if she did. Hopefully her reasoning isn’t that monk wine was really good. Hopefully it acted as a distraction of some sorts so that the others could get a way or grab something. Then he could tell her good job on getting drunk and stripping and give her an awkward smile and a thumbs up.

She knocks on his door in less than an hour. He doesn’t stand to unlock it, doesn’t call for her to enter, but in a few short seconds she’s picked the lock and it pops free letting her bound right in. He doesn’t know why he though that would stop her.

“Darling, your door locked.”

“I know,” grumbles without looking up from vacation forms. Perky office assistant wants a month off to go to Bora Bora.

The bounce works it way out of her footsteps and she stops short before his desk after checking his tone. “Why was it locked?”

“Because I locked it.”

“Oh no.” She floats now, every stretch of every muscle sensual and on purpose as she perches on the corner of his desk. “Have I done something naughty?”

Her question is hopeful, and it almost makes him feel the same way, like this can be one of their roleplaying nights with the fuzzy cuffs among other things, but the sly grin face falters when he doesn’t answer. “Wait, did I really do something wrong?”

He exhales loudly, tossing his pen down onto the paperwork. “I don’t know. You tell me, Vala.”

Her eyes dart around waiting to see if this is a game, but when his tone, voice, and body remain unchanged and she becomes quieter. “I—I don’t think I have.”

“Well, then I guess you didn’t.”

“Perhaps you could explain what you think I did—”

“So, you can explain it away?”

“Cameron, I didn’t do anything without a good reason.”

“Okay, so tell me the reasoning why you got shitfaced and table danced for monks.” He shoves away from the desk because pacing will help him. Knowing he can still walk will help him. “Just feeling generous?”

“What?”

“Tell me why one of the Jacksons had your panties in his pocket.” Expects her to get upset for a rebuttal. To accuse him of things or bring up how he never picks up his goddamn laundry because she never stops complaining about it.

But she just laughs at him. Hard. Until she’s got tears bunching in the corners of her eyes that she’s using her palm to wipe away. “Darling, you’ve gotten some bad information.”

He circles to the front of the desk, relieved by her actions, and knowing he’s probably going to feel like a fucking idiot in a few minutes. “Then tell me what’s good.”

She clears her throat and her front teeth bite down onto her bottom lip, her face still flushed from laughing, and God, if he didn’t need to know what happened so much—“The Daniels got drunk on the wine the monks provided.”

“The Jacksons?”

“Yes. Now don’t interrupt.” She grabs the slack material of the side of his uniform and drags him closer to her, his hips resting against her spread knees. “They got drunk, danced over the food dishes which in itself was a travesty because those bald men can really cook a good meal.” Her fingers trail up his hands to his arms, sliding over his skin. “To add to the enragement of our gracious hosts, they dumped about a bottle and a half of wine on me, soaking me through to the bone.”

He understands. He feels like a big idiot. “You took your clothes off to dry.”

“Yes, and I changed into my backup uniform, which was without another pair of panties because I needed them when someone ripped mine off me one night in a tent in a throe of passion.” Guilty as charged. “And in the complete postcoital ecstasy you provided, I forgot to replace them.”

“So how did they end up in a Jackson’s pocket?”

“We were in quite a rush to leave, the monks weren’t happy, and I sort of shoved all my clothing back into my bag.” Tents her fingers against his, relaxing back into his desk. “They must have fallen out and drunk Daniel Two saved them.”

He retrieves a hand, kissing the inside of her wrist. “I’m sorry.”

She wiggles free and pinches his nose. “You should be.”

“I’ll never doubt you again.”

“Oh, you should always doubt me, darling. It keeps you on your feet.”

“And you off yours.”

“Naughty.”

Her arms slip around him and her head rests against his chest. She’s not as upset as he thought she might be. Not as upset as he would be. Not upset as he was. “Have you calmed down sufficiently.”

“Yeah.” He strokes her shoulder, bundles her hair and tosses it over the opposite one. “I had no idea how I was going to write the mission report.”

“That’s not why you were upset.” She purrs against him and he doesn’t answer, just keeps playing with her hair. “It’s kind of nice, to have someone care about me that much, I mean, once you take the barbarism out of it.”

“I’ll try to keep the barbarism out of it next time if you try to keep the Jacksons away from the wine.”


	7. Anger Fruit

He doesn’t remember a lot for a long time.

When he wakes he’s strapped to a bed staring at a bright light and at first he thinks that he’s been taken prisoner, but that’s not it because he hasn’t been on a mission in almost a year and a half now, he’s the big brain that sits behind the desk in his office and randomly checks to make sure the flag still has fifty stars, that they haven’t slipped in a few extra when his head was turned.

The smell is what tips him off, it smells like hand sanitizer and metal and he knows he’s in medical bay. The restraints are big and heavy and even if he could move his arms he’d get tired within a few minutes. He can, however, move his head.

To his left is a Daniel.

To his right is a Daniel

All three of them are strapped to beds.

And this might be hell. He might be in hell right now.

Doors hiss open, which means he’s in the room they put the potentially contagious cases in. Dr. Lam shuffles to his side, glances at the output on a beeping monitor he’s just noticed, writes a few things on the chart and when she looks down and sees him looking up, she startles.

“Jesus.”

“Sorry.”

“I just—I just thought that if you were awake, you’d be making more noise.”

“That’s okay.”

“You were a lot louder before.”

“What?” He tugs on the restraints on his arm linking him to the metal railing on the bed. “Hey while you’re here would you mind, you know?” He tugs again for emphasis.

Lam hugs the clipboard to her chest and doesn’t even bother to give him a half smile. “Not until I’m sure it’s out of your system.”

“What’s out of my system?”

“The toxin.”

Then he notices for the first time, the bright light finally flushing from his eyes, that there are bruises on her neck, some redness on her face. That’s not good. He’s flocked by Daniels, but where is everyone else? Teal’c or Sam.

Vala.

Where is she, she should’ve found a way to sneak in here by now. “What toxin?”

Lam sets her clipboard on a stool and produces a small flashlight. “If I check your eyes will you keep your hands to yourself?”

“What?” Jerks back as far as he can which isn’t much, but his movement makes her flinch. He then lets his arms fall slack. “Of course.”

She leans over the railing shining the light in his eyes, the small flashlight replacing the big reflective dentist disk of a light, and he stays as still as possible, but his heart monitor shows his nerves. “It looks to be out of your system, but I want to give it another hour.”

“Carolyn.” That catches her eye, almost like a verbal wrist grab. “What the hell happened?”

“If you honestly don’t remember, it might be a good thing.”

“Tell me.”

She sighs, her hand clasping tight around the metal railing draining all the color from her skin. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

*

SG-1, the complete team, minus himself of course because he’s no longer running the plays, returned from a planet. A celebration was in order, they actually succeeded in getting a political ally on the outer border. Land was purchased, schematics for a defense post approved and they returned home with a large metal basket full of alien fruit.

“I can’t believe we did it.” Credited himself too because he had to do all the background research with Walter make sure the MALPs came up clean and that there were no hostile races of people or parasites waiting for them.

“I can’t believe it took this long.” Daniel One bit into a fruit, it was purple on the outside but round and bumpy like an orange. Juice sputtered everywhere. Daniel Two grabbed it and bit into the other side.

“What are those?” He asked Vala, who without tucking into his side, stood near enough to have a semi-private conversation with.

She grinned and pulled two fruit from the weaved metal hamper, dropping one in his hand. “The fruits of our labor, darling.” She bit through the bumpy skin, juice wetting her lips and chin. “It’s very smooth and it tastes like a marshes mallow.”

“That is marshmallow, Vala Mal Doran.” Teal’c moved through the growing crowd.

He had to make sure to monitor everyone, last thing they needed was a slew of allergic reactions to alien fruit or something. “Teal’c you full?”

“My body cannot handle certain strains of citrus from the outer planets.” He tapped his stomach twice. “I feel using caution would be more advantageous than being incapacitated later.”

“Sounds good, buddy.” Watched as Teal’c lumbered through the crowd and out of the gate room, then leaned into Vala, who smelled like a sickly sweet combination of lemon and marshmallows. “What are the odds that I’m allergic to this?”

“Well, I’ve eaten almost every fruit known in this galaxy.” They began a lazy pace following Teal’c but staying enough behind him that their conversation remained private.

“So?”

“So, you’ve eaten—” She took another bite of the fruit and wiggled her eyebrows at him.

“Yeah, I get it.” Shoved her, making her balance wobble, making her giggle and she bit through the rind again, producing a small, creamy white chunk, spat it into her hand, and then held it out to him.

“Here.”

“Vala.” His eyes darted around the hallway, they were alone enough that he plucked the chunk from her hand before she could momma bird feed it to him. A burst of flavor surged through his mouth like sucking on a sour candy coated in sugar. The rind melted away and the middle tasted a bit like marshmallows, but more like lemon meringue pie. “Oh God this is good.”

*

“The last thing I remember is eating the fruit.”

“How much of it did you have? Did the Daniels have more?” Lam’s pen clicks, and she holds the clipboard still.

“The Daniels had at least one each that I saw.” Their full mouths chewing silently and happily, and he thought about just getting the fruit on backorder so whenever he needed them to shut up, he could toss one into the lab and run.

“And you?”

“I think I only had one bite.” But his memories are still very hazy, remembers eating some more from Vala’s hand, following the juice trail with his tongue over her fingers to her palm and down her arm. “Maybe a few bites more.”

“That might explain it then.”

“Explain what?”

Lam pulls that face again, like she’s got to do something she doesn’t want to do and it’s all his fault. Like she’s smelling a manure pile sitting in the sun on a hot muggy day. “Your reaction was less concentrated than the Daniels. If you only had a fraction of the fruit—”

“What reaction.”

She doesn’t say a word, merely grabs her clipboard and exits the room.

*

It stays silent for a while, just the beeping of the machine and the Daniels light snoring. He wants to shout out, to pull rank and let everyone know that even though he’s a fun-loving guy, he’s getting a little tired of being tied to a goddamn exam table. He doesn’t think about the pain in his thigh, too preoccupied with not knowing what the fuck he did.

The door hisses open and this time Teal’c marches in, “Colonel Mitchell,” he greets with brief but welcoming, unflinching eye contact. The stool squeaks across the ground again as he pulls it forward to sit at the bedside. “Are you feeling better?”

“Well, Teal’c, since I can’t remember how I felt before, I’m gonna have to say I don’t know.”

“We were deceived by the planet. They acted as our political allies, however the fruit they sent as a show of good faith turned out to be toxic to human males.” Teal’c pauses and he’s unsure if it’s so he can ask all the questions he has, or if it’s to add dramatic tension.

Either way, he widens his eyes and bobs his head once. Then blurts out, “okay, how Teal’c?”

“I wanted to ensure you understood the parameters of—”

“How Teal’c?”

“It brings out a latent aggression—”

“So, I was just really angry for a day.”

“That evolves into violence.”

“Oh.” His arms go slack in the restraints again and an hour must have passed by now. “Did I hurt anyone?”

“Unfortunately, this violence is specifically directed towards females—”

“What?” He doesn’t breathe, he forgets to breathe, and the heart monitor starts to do crazy jags on the black screen.

“Colonel Carter believes it’s a warfare tactic from the planet.” Teal’c just keeps sitting there calmly spewing out information like Microsoft Sam, like it’s only data in numbers. What did he do? Did he hurt someone? Lam or Sam or—oh God. “—by exterminating the females of the opposing species, it makes reproduction unfeasible, thereby—”

“Teal’c, did I hurt anyone?” There are little flashes of his memory coinciding with the blip of the heart monitor. Kissing her in his office, her falling to his sagging leather couch and pulling him down on top of her. He—he stopped her, despite how good the fruit tasted against her skin, because they were both still on duty. Tapped her on her ass as she left, licked his lips as he watched her go. But he saw her later, her hands around his face holding him still, her face bloodied. “Did I hurt—”

“No Colonel Mitchell, I punched you in the face rendering you unconscious before you enacted any acts of violence.”

“Thanks Buddy.”

*

Lam releases him on Teal’c’s approval, but she requests the big guy remain in the room while she weaves the restraint straps free.

“Thanks.”

She doesn’t say a single word to him, just keeps close to Teal’c, who shadows her as she goes to check on the Daniels. Both still sound asleep, and when she reaches up and checks their IV pouches.

He rubs at his wrists. “They go off?”

“Sam was toying with killing one of them.” She injects more of whatever is keeping the sleeping beauties asleep and holds pursed lips.

“I toy with that idea every day.”

“Not like this, Colonel Mitchell.”

No more jokes. He nods, his fingers dancing around on his face finding the bit of a swollen nose that Teal’c left him with. “We lose anyone?”

“A few privates, male and female.”

“SG-1?”

“Battered and bruised but they held their own.” She finishes injecting the needle into the second Daniel’s IV bag, caps it and tosses it into a biohazard container Teal’c holds for her. “We’re just lucky Teal’c refused the fruit.”

*

Everyone has been secured to quarters and he promised Lam he’d make his way straight back to his, but it’s a lie as soon as he says it. Wants to check in with Sam at her lab and get another perspective because Teal’c didn’t really paint a colorful picture, but he knows he won’t make it there tomorrow.

He swipes his pass at her door, assuming he’s going to have to put in a manual override code, but it flashes green without a problem and slides open. She jumps at his entrance, eyes tearing away from Sunday morning cartoons and it must have been two days of this nightmare.

“Cameron?” she questions warily, her voice a bit hoarse. She stands from the bed wearing the football jersey she usually does for their Sunday night nacho parties at his place, bare legs take a step forward.

“It’s me, Princess.” Expects her to slam against him, push him back into the wall, course her hands over his body to find all the injuries, kiss him until he can’t breathe, but she doesn’t do any of that. Silently, she walks forward and touches her forehead against his chest until he wraps his arms around her. He holds her in the lack of conversation, of examining each other’s battle wounds. Only when she starts to relax he speaks. “You okay?”

“Better than we could hope.” Her eyes are tired but clear, the side of her face has a little bruising and she reads his mind. “Some private got the drop on me, but I knocked him out.” She hikes the jersey to her hips and pass her boy shorts to reveal cloudy bruising over her ribs. “One of the Daniels kicked me like a bloody mule and when I find out which one of them did it—”

“But you’re okay?”

“Lam approved. How’s your nose?” Her fingers pinch the bridge and when he gasps she frowns, grabbing his hand and leading him to the bed. “Your poor beautiful nose.”

Better than the alternative, way better. “Sam?”

She halts before the bed, a twitch in her lips as she sits elegantly in his jersey like it’s a ballgown, knees knocked, and side bent. “A little worse for the wear. She was in the commissary when it happened, I was in the lab.”

“Did I—” He starts but can’t finish it because he’s afraid to hear what she’ll say. She won’t lie to him because he’ll see through it, but he wouldn’t lie to her in this position either, both are vulnerable, her with knowing the truth and him with having to accept what she tells him.

“You actually ran into the lab to help me.” She reclines against the bed and guides him down to lie next to her, his head resting against her chest. “But after the conscious Daniel ran out you sensed something wrong with yourself. When I tried to follow you, you got very grumpy and shooed me away.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry.”

“Me neither.” She strokes his hair and he tries not to rest his hand across her ribs. When he doesn’t speak she slows her hand and tugs on his earlobe. “Darling, what are you thinking?”

That he wishes for one day they could have a safe work environment. That the stress of being the boss of fifteen teams is starting to make him go gray. That he’s tired of sneaking into his girlfriend’s room because if he’s old enough to go gray, he’s old enough to be in a committed relationship—public committed relationship. That constantly seeing her hurt give him mini heart attacks and he’s not ready to cut bacon from his breakfasts.

“I wish we were normal.”

She hums, cheek against his forehead, and her fingernails lightly strum against his neck. “I think we should be grateful we’re not, otherwise that could’ve ended very poorly for us.”

  

 


	8. Morals

The monks miraculously agree to see them again. Despite the Jacksons’ drunken tabletop dance and the raining of sacred wine over a certain gorgeous teammate, and then somehow collecting her panties int eh confusion, he still doesn’t understand that part, the monks are willing to overlook everything in the name of peace which it probably what makes them monks.

The downside is it’s a two-week mission because the planet is falling into something like a lunar new year, but it only happens every two decades. That means gate travel during the event is limited in most places but prohibited in areas of religious importance, like a monastery, so when SG-1 go they won’t be coming back until the celebration is over and he, well he doesn’t like that.

“Do you want me to bring you back anything?” She sits in his lap as they watch television from his bed, body going slack as she fights sleep. They’ve been watching reruns of old sitcoms, trying to find one she might like, but so far she thinks all of them are stupid.

“Just bring yourself back in one piece by the gate without dragging something else through there with you.”

She tenses and tries to twist in his arms, but he’s playfully keeping her in place, keeping her fingers from jabbing at him. “Oh, so now you’re a laughy man, are you?”

His chest thumps hers when he laughs, his hands sliding down her arms and hugging them to her.  “Comedian, the word you’re looking for is—”

“Maybe I just won’t come back.” The way she says it, the bluntness of the sentence in the middle of a playfight, stills him.

“What?”

His arms loosen around her and she spins towards him in the bright light of a 90s sitcom streaming from the tv. “Maybe I’ll just stay there among my new monk brethren.”

“Then maybe I’ll just have to gate in there after you.” His tone still holds the playfulness they abandoned, but the grin falls of his face.

“And in this reality the monks are letting you through the gate during their little celebration.” She stretches out her back, and the angle of her body against him is entirely on purpose. Her knees knock against his hips and her fingers slide over his shoulders.

“In this reality they let you through the gate. Twice.” His hands slope down the curve of her back to cup her ass. She dips her head and he kisses her softly at first, then with growing intensity when he remembers the trip is two weeks. Two weeks where he’s going to have to pen himself into his mountain bedroom and make things interesting by switching to his other hand. Maybe he’ll finally find a sitcom she’ll like.

*

“Remember to keep the Daniels from the wine.” Reminds as he tightens the straps on her backpack. He’s fawning over her, knows he’s doing it and can’t really stop it. Wants to grab her and give her a big, romantic, 1940s movie send off Casablanca-style, but then he’d have to kiss his job goodbye. Lately the two things don’t balance like they used to.

“Very covert, Mitchell.” Daniel One scoffs as he brushes by Daniel two who’s loading something onto his data tablet. At first, he thinks One’s referring to his not covert at all preening of his beautiful girlfriend that he’s about to send back into the field with two Daniels, a Teal’c and a hell of a lot of monks. Then he understands it was a blast at his lame joke attempt, which really wasn’t a joke at all.

She’s staring up at him, with that wide hopeful grin actually waiting to hear his rebuttal, and he has to copy Teal’c’s hands-behind-the-back pose to not touch her again. “If they do their Coyote Ugly routine again, just offer one of them up as a sacrifice.”  

“Coyote Ugly? What the hell—”

“You couldn’t have chosen something more topical? Like, I don’t know—Cocktail?”

Picked Coyote Ugly because she was obsessed with that movie for two months about a year ago and he expected to have to sweep up a lot of bottle glass, but she caught every single one she threw, and then she bit her lip and raised her eyebrows at him and they didn’t make it to the bedroom. “Try to pawn them both off as a two-for-one special or something.”

“And with those inspiring words from our team leader—”

“Perhaps, we should limit the amount of _whine_  the Dr. Daniel Jacksons are allowed to embrace.”

“Big Guy with the jokes.” Claps a hand to Teal’c’s hard shoulder while both Jacksons roll their eyes.

The chevrons lock into place and he takes a step back, not like he used to, did he even make it to two-hundred missions over an almost five year period? It gets him a bit nostalgic, a bit envious as he watches them line up, gear in tow and they still look excited to travel, well except for the Jacksons who look pissed.

“Lighten up Jacksons, two weeks with monks should be summer camp to you.”

“Two weeks away from you is a good enough reward.”

“Yeah.” He rubs at the back of his head. Two weeks is a long time. “Try having to deal with two of me.”

Vala throws up her arms just after the _kawoosh_ bursts through the room. “Everyone’s a laughy man.”

*

The first three days go by without a hitch. He settles into paperwork. Rodriguez is requesting another transfer because apparently Major Dumas has some leadership styles that he doesn’t quite agree with. Jacques also has requested a paternity leave starting at the end of the year, and they’re losing soldiers to family, which is better than the alternative he supposes. Maybe this will let him get back out into the field a bit.

On the forth day, he’s sipping his mint tea because Lam keeps giving him shit for drinking coffee because it gives him bad indigestion. Next  she’ll tell him to cut out alcohol, then fast food, then sugar. Something will break him eventually, but not while Vala still regularly sneaks into his office planting a plastic cup of coffee from the cafeteria, two cream one sugar the way he likes it, on the corner of his desk and presses a kissed fingertip to the point of his nose.

The tea isn’t awful, but it doesn’t give him the same kick, sort of like how he’s been using his other hand. Not awful, still gets him off, but it doesn’t moan back to him.

“Colonel Mitchell.” His perky office assistant pokes her head into his office, bright red lipstick and red-dyed hair bouncing in curls.

“Yes?” Then he realizes he doesn’t know her name. She’s been assigned to assist him for almost a year an a half now, as long as he and Vala have been together. He thought it was Landry’s idea, sort of force him to get with the office assistant because Landry’s not stupid, can read between the lines, the multiple lines of his signature claiming responsibility for her as he drives her away from the base and watches her face light up when she sees billboards and city lights.

“They want you in the gate room.” Office assistant snaps her gum at the end of her sentence and how old is she exactly? He’s starting to think less of Landry’s tastes as the days drag on.

“Why?”

“I dunno.” Shrugs her shoulders and then drops a handful of internal, sealed letters onto the cabinet by the door.

“Great.” Quickly scribbles his stilted signature on the bottom of Jacques request but denies Rodriguez’s again, then tails—his office assistant—out the door.

*

Skids into the gate room control booth and barely gets to utter a ‘what’ at Walter before gate bursts to life and she appears, a Daniel hooked at each of her arms, dragging her away from the iris. She digs the heels of her boots into the ground offering up resistance, marking up the clean white tiles.  

Abandons Walter and skips stairs until he’s on the same level, but the time he gets to them, the Jacksons have tossed her onto the floor. She flips from her hands and knees to sitting, staring at them with the dirtiest look he’s ever seen from her.

“Easy Sunshines.” Jogs up next to her, offering a hand, which she takes while watching the smugly receding Jacksons. “What the hell happened?”

“Oh nothing,” the first one sing songs sort of rocking on his feet.

The second one follows cue and picks up the sentence. “Except for Vala trying to depose the religious hierarchy of the planet.”

She pops up beside him as he squints at the Jacksons, then back at Vala who adjusts her jacket. “Okay, that’s exaggerating it a little bit.”

“No, darling, that’s about the gist of it.”

Jams the palms of his hands in his eyes that need glasses, that Lam keeps telling him to get glasses for, that he got glasses for, but they look so stupid on him. “Vala—”

And thank God she cuts him off, because he was about to call her ‘honey’. “It’s easy to try and depose a planet when they run on the enslavement of women.”

“What?” Glances at her and then to the Jacksons, neither refute her. “Someone please tell me what’s going on.”

“Basically that.” The first one points to Vala. The second only nods in agreement.

“So, the enslavement of women—”

“Second class—”

“Third class,” she interrupts, her arms crossed tightly as she glares.

“Fine.” The second Jackson rolls his eyes at Vala but continues, “third class citizens used for menial labor, cooking and cleaning, with no real rights.”

“Like the 1950s?”

“What?” Vala darts her eyes to him.

“A little worse than that.” Jackson one confirms, holding his fingers about an inch apart.

“Tell him Daniels, tell him about the sex.”

“The sex?” Now he’s on guard again, his eyelids lowering as he observes the scoff and stutter of Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum.

“Well, the sex isn’t exactly—”

Vala all but pushes them out of the way as she circles around in front of him. “They’re used, Cameron, and this festival is basically a Bacchanal of—”

“Speaking of which, we sort of have to—”  The first juts behind him to the gate.

The second nods. “They’re sort of holding the gate for us.”

Ignores the twins and turns back to Vala, still clearly upset. “How bad, princess?”

She cups a hand over his crossed arm, her voice low and serious. “Stop it, Cameron.”

“Cameron?” One Jackson whispers to the other.

He nods, doesn’t draw his eyes away from hers as he gives the command, “Go get Teal’c and come back here immediately.”

“Mitchell, you’re really going to destroy a chance at having a political ally because—”

“If they’re using women as sex slaves, then hell yeah I am.”

Jackson two steps forward, boots thumping down the ramp. “They have a lot of information on—”

“I don’t care.” Turns his back and starts walking away not interested in doing a stare down with an archeologist or two. “Go get Teal’c and come back here.”

“But—”

“That’s an order.”

*

Signed her out again, and at this point connecting the dots is meaningless because the dots are so close they just make the line to the damn picture. She leans against his knees, one arm hugging the peaks as she traces his scar. They’re watching a sitcom about a radio station that has a lot of pratfalls which she enjoys. Bodily harm humor, along with the rampant sexual drive, he thinks are left over from Qetesh?

His hand strokes through her hair, soft drifting between his fingers and he feels the muscles in her jaw loosen as she falls into another bout of laughter. Could ask her about the planet, the four days she spent there as a third-class citizen, but knows that Teal’c and the Jacksons protected her. Knows that she protects herself better than anyone he’s ever met. If she wanted to talk about it, she would have mentioned it, painted the picture of what he thinks it a huge, lavish hall in burgundies and whites and golden chains, talks sometimes about wearing golden shackles when she was Qetesh and he knows why she likes him to wear the fuzzy pinks and not her.

Doesn’t really matter what happened to her to make her the way she is now. There were definitely more bad things than good, but she took it in stride, stitched it into her personality and used the broad flirtations to cover any faults. It worked for awhile, he sees them, he just doesn’t care because that’s her. She knows and that’s why the innuendos with him are few and far between.

Wants to ask her one question. Why she chose him. Why, when she cast out all the flirtatious lures, and he bit back, why she started falling for him the way he did for her.

But she laughs again, hollow in her chest because someone in the radio station broke a coffee pot and he’s never seen her reel in laughter before so he lets her and maybe she doesn’t forget about the horrible things she witnessed for four days while she single-handedly tried to overthrow a religious dictatorship, but maybe she doesn’t think of them right now.

Strokes his hand through her hair again and she glances back at him, one of his t-shirts hanging off her shoulder and beams in the darkness.


	9. Pollen

Neither Daniel will leave. Landry’s offered them packages and pay raises and staterooms and the literal boundless knowledge of Atlantis that a single Daniel once hung his cap on as a dream, but now neither of the stubborn assholes want to leave because it’s giving up being the real Daniel. Instead they share the office, are neighbors in dorm rooms and oddly enough in an apartment building and are partners in annoying the ever-living crap out of him every day.

The only good thing to come out of this is that he no longer has to free up another SGC member to accompany Daniel on his stargate flights of fancy. Instead they use the buddy system and travel together. He’s sure one day off-world Second Daniel will try to kill First Daniel, but that will only change the number of Daniels back to normal.

Right now, they’re all on a mission to P3Y-177, a weird border planet that is supposedly uninhabited, but the MALF reported enough oxygen to sustain life and a working ecosystem. Sam’s finally been released from her Atlantean hold and it’s her first mission back on the team. The team which now is Teal’c, Sam, Vala, and two Daniels. He doesn’t get to go. He’s still shift coordinator at this McDonalds and never gets to hang around with the old crew anymore.

Instead he sulks around and waits for updates. Second Daniel is eating too much, First Daniel had to stop for three restroom breaks in just as many hours, a coconut like fruit fell onto Teal’c’s head, the river is naturally purple because of a weird type of algae, there are plant spores in the air all the time like yellow snow without the dog pee, and Sam is nostalgic for Atlantis.

They return the next day salted in tiny little yellow flower buds that break down into smaller flower buds, kind of like a piece of cauliflower. They stream by him kindergarten single-file style and he tugs Sam aside at the end.

“How’d the first mission back go?” He dusts some pollen off her shoulder and the stuff smears against her jacket. By the look on her face, she already knew this.

“Two of them are too much, Cam.”

“Yeah, but at least he’s getting socialization.” She rolls her eyes, tired, sticky, smelly, and by the way she brushes by Teal’c in the doorway after debriefing, which took twice as long with twice as many Daniel rambles, entirely fed up with the men on this team.

Vala is waiting for him in his room that night, entirely not fed up with at least one man on the team, and pounces on him after the door shuts. Her legs wrap around hips and she tilts his head up to crash her mouth against his.

“Miss me, baby?” He slides his hands along her thighs and around to cup her ass, carefully walking them forward to his bed.

“The thought of you and right now is the only thing that got me through those two horrid days.” Her hair is still damp from her shower, her clothes sticking to her skin and smelling faintly like flowers.

“That bad, huh?” He mumbles against her collarbone, chasing the delve in her skin up to her neck.

“Not now.” Shakes her head and her hips roll forward against his. “Now this.”

*

When his alarm goes off at 0530 the next morning she’s still asleep beside him, out cold on her stomach, her one arm flung over his neck and the other hanging off the edge of the bed. Expects her bare back to be freezing but when he pulls the blanket up to cover her, she’s still warm to touch.

“Vala?” He kisses the palm of her hand and traces fingers over her arm until reaching her shoulder and shaking her to wake her. She should’ve been gone by three like normal, but she must be so tired she slept through it. “Honey, you gotta go.”

“Five more minutes.” Doesn’t move an inch, except for her hand that slaps him in the face reassuringly as she tucks her face further into the pillow.

“No baby, you gotta go now.” Swings his legs over the side of the bed making sure all of his movements are overexaggerated, causing the mattress to roll like it’s on top of an ocean current.

She groans and tries to hold onto the blankets as he rips them to the end of the bed. Her knees curl up against her chest in the sudden chill and he counts the seconds until she starts grumbling and dressing.

“Did you sleep through your alarm?” He yanks on his sweatpants to go for his early morning jog. It’s overcast with a chance of showers, so he’ll need a hoodie or something to protect him a bit if it rains.

“I’m not talking to you,” her hair smothers her voice as she leans and pulls on her panties.

“Princess, you cannot be mad at me for waking you up.”

“I’m too tired to be upset with you.” Her eyes still hold heavy lids and her face still a bit gray from lack of sleep. She yanks her silky pajama pants up and then crawls into one of his thick gray sweaters.

“I need that.”

She flops down onto the side of the bed, sprawling out across the mattress and watching him through upside down eyes like a cat. “Hmm, sleep?”

“No, this.” He tugs at the hood of the sweater.

She doesn’t answer.

“Vala.”

“What?”

“You can’t wear it.”

“Why not?”

“Because then people will know?”

“Know what?” He doesn’t know if she’s trying to be cute or coy or just an early morning pain in his ass, but she smiles dreamily at him and hugs herself. “People will just assume I stole it from you.”

That’s actually true, and as much as he would like to have the small satisfaction of knowing she’s wearing a piece of his clothing for a different reason, he does need it. “I’d still need it for my jog.”

She flips quickly, her knees digging into the mattress, his tightly pulled fitted sheet still holding in place. “You’d tear this away from me just for your jog.”

“Why do you want to wear it so badly?”

“Because my pants are tight, and I don’t want anyone to see.” Thinks it’s some sort of weird alien women sensuality lie that works as a double entendre.

“I’m sorry, what?”

She hikes the chunky sweater up to her ribs with one hand and jabs a finger below her belly button with the other. “I’m bloated like a corpse, Cameron.”

He breaks into a snort of laughter, and her expression wobbles thinking he’s mocking her. “Vala.” Leans across the bed, his knee on the edge. He touches a finger to the same spot and feels nothing but muscle. “You look exactly the same as last night.”

“Are you sure?” Tilts her head to get a better angle, shoos away his fingers to take another look.

“I promise you’re not bloated, you’re gorgeous.” He stamps a kiss into her cheek, and tugs at the bottom of the hoodie until she lifts her arms and relinquishes his sweater.

*

They have sex again that night, the same wild frantic sex initiated by her tackling him the moment after the pizza is finished. He secured a pass for her off the base for the next forty-eight hours under the lie of her needing new clothes, including a new hoodie. Afterwards she falls right asleep, chin against his chest while he’s still explaining to her the idea behind Dancing with the Stars because she still fears it.

He carries her to bed, wrapped up in the blanket from the back of his couch, and then slipped between cold, crisp unused sheets because he’s always on base with her now. Someone must have noticed how close they’ve become. They’re good soldiers and able to place missions and teamwork first, but they’re not good actors, either of them, not when it’s not a life or death situation.

The alarm goes off at 0530 and he rubs the back of his eyes with his hand, slipping into a different pair of sweats and a t-shirt. There’s a chill in the air, but the run will help him absorb it. Air puffs out in little spurts as he picks up the pace and rounds a corner. It’s still dark out, but the streets are empty, and he’s missed running on sidewalks instead of through the corridors of a mountain or across a puddle-soaked parking lot.

He wants more of this, more of what he woke up to today, he wants it everyday, but that would just be being greedy.

Just as the streetlights flick off and the sun blushes the sky he returns to the front door of his house, a modest two-bedroom, one bath home offered to him as part of compensation from the SGC. All of his neighbors have kids, have babies, push buggies and struggle with car seats. He has had five different types of alien blood on him now.

Grabs the key from his mailbox and unlocks the door, stepping onto the rug inside the door and nudging his shoes off as silently as possible to allow her to sleep in as much as she can. The door clicks closed behind him and when he locks it, she asks, “Cameron, is that you?”

Wants to ask who else would be in his house this early in the morning, but in their line of work it could be almost anyone else. The IOA coming to question her, an enemy coming to start shit, the Daniels finding them for an audience. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Come here, now.”

“What’s the matter, Princess?” Yanks the shirt over his head, her demand just like last night and round two is a high possibility, but again that might be him just being greedy. Jogs down the small hallway off the dining room turning into the bedroom. “Miss me—”

And he stops dead in his tracks.

“Not exactly.” She’s in front of his mirror, hands on opposite sides of her stomach, her stomach which definitely has a bump now, sloping out a little after her ribs and curving back in by her hips. It looks like—

“Holy shit.”

“Am I bloated now?” Chin to her shoulder as she looks back to him, wide eyes and a nervous closed smile.

“What—uh—what—” He slips through the door, turning her towards him, and it’s noticeable. He didn’t think it was that bad, but fuck it’s really, really— “What—and—how?”

“What do you mean?”

“Vala, you’re pregnant.” Flattens his hand against the bump and no longer touches the toughness of muscles, instead it feels very light, very jiggly.

“I’m not pregnant.”

“Honey, you ate a lot of pizza last night but—”

“I had my moon tides before we left for the pollen planet, remember?”

It feels like she’s pregnant, and he feels like he would feel if she was: scared as hell. “You’re sure that’s not what this is?”

“It doesn’t feel anything like it did last time.”

She would know better than him. When he stops staring at her stomach and back into her face she’s worried, done a great job of wiping it from her face, but her eyes, in her eyes he can still view the fear.

“Let’s go see Lam.”

*

The day—the day is a weird one.

Lam can’t find out what’s causing the ‘swelling’, that’s what they’re calling it, and whatever ‘it’ is, Sam has it too. They get blood and cultures and all sorts of other medical bullshit done to them while he gets the pleasure of explaining to Teal’c and the Daniel twins what’s going on. He tries to skip the big words, because the subject is confusing, and just plain creepy, but as far as Lam can tell, there’s something inside of them that might be gestating and that is dangerous.

And creepy.

“Okay so we have some things to discuss, but one of them ranks most important—”

“Have you dealt with the parking spot debacle yet?” Thing one crosses his arms against the table while Thing two rolls his eyes with a groan.

“No—” He speaks between his clenched teeth “—there is something a little more pressing—”

“I do not understand,” Teal’c leans forward addressing the Daniels, “do you not both carpool in together?”

“That’s not the point.”

“The point is we’re two separate beings and deserve to be—”

“Also, do you not spend most of your nights sleeping on the base anyway?”

“That’s not—”

“It’s the basis of the idea that—”

He slams his clipboard against the conference table and declares, “So Sam and Vala are infected with a space virus you dug up on that flower planet.”

*

Sneaks in a little before dinner to see her. They’re both in quarantine, but Sam’s confined to another room because they don’t know what’s making the swelling worse. And boy is it getting worse. She’s reading and doesn’t see him sit in the seat next to her. She’s in the classic blue medical scrubs and at first he thinks they must have got new sheets because they’re usually white but now they’re blue tenting over her knees.

Then he realizes it’s not her knees, and that she’s gotten bigger. Almost like she shoved a helium balloon under her shirt, which she might have done at the Christmas party last year, and when she catches him staring she blushes, and it’s not the kind a blush he can give her in the bedroom, or by whispering how gorgeous she is while they’re just sitting on the couch, it’s the same kind of blush Daniel had three years ago when she told them she was pregnant through him.

He goes to take her hand but finds an IV running through the back of it. “What’s this for?”

“Nutrients, it’s rather hard to keep food down.”

“You doing okay?”

Tucks back the hair blocking her face. Expects her to go off on him, about how of course she’s not fine, how something in inside her body, again, that she doesn’t want there, again, and he doesn’t know how she’s so calm through it all. Her cold fingers ring around his as she simply flips a page in her magazine. “I’m uncomfortable, and very tired.”

Out of everything they’ve been through together, both in a relationship and as teammates, this is the first time she’s given him a straight and honest answer from the get go and he doesn’t know how to answer it other than with dumbfounded avoidance. “Lam make any headway yet?”

“Her and Dr. Rix concur that it’s not parasitic, like last time, but are now currently debating if it’s viral or fungal.”

“What do you and Sam think?”

“I’m far to tired to care, darling.” She taps the side of his face and he knows it’s all for show, that even she isn’t this plucky, and even her patience cannot be stretched this far. “Lam wants me to stay in this room for the night, but I refused.”

“If she wants you to—”

“There is nothing medically wrong with me, Cameron.”

He’s looking at something big and medically wrong with her, but his momma raised a good son and she’s riding this wave of calm, too calm and maybe Lam spiked her IV cocktail.

There’s a rustle in the main emergency area as Lam returns from her late lunch.

“You’ll be in your room tonight?” She nods, and he gives her a quick peck on the temple. “I’ll see you then.”

“Alright.”

“Tell them to comm me if it gets worse.”

*

“Hey,” he greets, immediately regretting it as the lights from the hall flash across her asleep in her bed, or at least he thinks she’s asleep. She’s facing away from the door, probably expecting his arrival and the flood of light opening the door brings. Probably knows he’s been standing outside her door for the last five minutes trying to figure out how to tell her what Lam told him, because it’s a doozy.

“Why were you waiting out there for so long?” She twists in the bed towards him and Jesus, she’s bigger and Lam had warned him she, and Sam, would be bigger, but he wasn’t prepared for this big. It looks like she might explode.

Explode.

“There were people in the hall.” Lies through is teeth as he approaches the bed, sitting down on the side and pulling off his shoes.

“You don’t have to stay here tonight,” mumbled in half sleep as she nudges herself farther into the pillow. “Dr. Lam gave me a sedative to help me sleep, and some sort of medical cocktail to hopefully quell whatever is in here.”

“I—uh—spoke with Lam too.” His shoe drops to the floor and he pulls at the laces of the other. His back is to her. He’s going to have to tell her this with his back to her. “She told me some things.”

“Nothing good right?” She shimmies in the bed again and her face contorts into one of pain, sort of pinched in the middle.

“You okay?”

“My back really hurts, and my stomach will not stop itching.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Not unless you know something I don’t.” He clears his throat and she fidgets behind him until she sits up straight. “Cameron—”

“The pollen that was in the air, it has a weird effect on human bodies, female human bodies. That’s why the planet isn’t inhabited.”

“What does it do?”

“Well, that’s the thing—”

“Cameron.”

“It sort of gestates in them, siphoning CO2—”

“See Oh what?”

“And then releasing oxygen.”

“Oh.” When he turns she’s itching at her stomach through a shirt, one of his shirts, and it’s barely covering her anymore. “Oxygen isn’t bad.”

“Well—” The other shoe drops and too much of anything is a bad thing.

“It cannot be as bad as carrying the Orici.” He doesn’t know how to answer that because this is going to drag up some really old, really messed up shit for her, and she’s going to play it off with a slap and a laugh. “Do not tell me I need to birth this pollen.”

“No, not technically.” Grips the blanket over her knee and he can’t look at her, but he can’t not look at her and in the darkness her eyes hook to his. “If the medicine Dr. Lam gave you doesn’t work, we have less than a day before you explode.”

“Explode?”

“Yes.”

“Explode, like an Al’keesh being fired upon?”

“Like a box of firecrackers tossed into a big ol’ fourth of July bonfire.” Tugs off his shirt, and tosses it to the ground, then drops his pants and pulls back the covers.

“What are you doing.”

“I thought I was staying with you tonight.” Pulls at the blanket that she still holds in place, her hand covering his half of the mattress.

“Not if I explode.”

Pulls again with a sterner expression. “Lam is very confident in the cocktail she drew up, she and Sam researched plant species and—”

“Cameron.” Reaches back and moves the knuckles of her hand against her lower back. “As much as I enjoy your company among other things, I don’t want to explode, much less, on you.”

“You won’t.” Grabs the pillow from his side of the mattress and hands it to her. She stares at it a second and as he points to his thighs, she shoves it between hers. That gets him the blanket free and as he slides into the cool sheets, she slides her pillow over for him to share. Tries to nestle against him the best she can, but her body is buoyant with air and every position is uncomfortable for her.

Finally rests with her head on his bicep and him hogging the one pillow. He bends his arm and plucks at strands of her hair, watching her eyes slide closed.  

*

The next morning when his alarm goes off at three, their positions have changed. She’s taken the pillow back from him in her sleep and spun to the edge of the bed and one of his legs have replaced the pillow between her legs. He’s tracing her body with his, parked very close and before he can second guess himself he lets his hand travel from her hip to her stomach, which is much smaller.

His sigh against the back of her neck wakes her and she shivers back against him. “Did I explode?”

“No.” His hand strokes her hip, and he kisses behind her ear. “You deflated a bit.”

“Good, that explains it.” Threads one of his arms underneath her neck, through her hair, and nuzzles against him until he shivers. She holds his hand in place, and even if he wanted to pull back he couldn’t.

“Explains what?” He kisses her again, nose nudging through her hair.

“I’m very gassy.”

“Baby, you know I love it when you talk dirty to me.”


	10. No Boots

The Clava Thessara thing is hitting full speed. Landry’s sent word from Washington that if there is the manpower, they need to follow up on the Daniels’ leads. He doesn’t relate this to the Wonder Twins because he doesn’t need both of them getting swollen heads, but it does mean that he has to listen when they come to him about anything.  They’ve finally got their parking spot, but now they’re working on a separate office space and it was hard enough to get them separate dorms.

He sits across from her in the cafeteria, her boots nudging his a bit and he feels like he’s back in high school. She’s trying to convince him to paint his guest bedroom purple. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“You need a little more boldness in your life.” She reaches forward and snatches a tangerine from the upper corner of his tray.

“Yeah, I think I got my full fill of bold.”  The peels litter straight onto the table and he begins collecting them back onto his empty plate.

“You also need to eat more fruit.” She pulls the tangerine, ripping out the white core, and sets half on the table. “You never eat enough fruit.”

He sends her a sly smirk while she pops the first slice of fruit into her mouth with a happy grin, her boot traveling higher, nudging at his knee, and he’s about to growl something low and suggestive to her, when a Daniel plops down on either side of the them. Daniel Two notices their backs straighten out. “Hope we’re not interrupting something.”

“Not at all, darlings, I was just suggesting that Cameron get a bit more fruit in his diet.” She slips another slice between her lips and grins again.

“Well sorry to interrupt your riveting conversations but—”

“—we have a problem.”

They tell him that more often then they say good morning. When he answers an off-world walkie call he knows they’re going to tell him they have a problem, if they say it’s a little problem it’s usually it’s worst than he expects. “I’m getting real tired of hearing that.”

“I’m sorry, Mitchell.”

“Are we making you do your job?”

Glances back to Vala, and she’s stolen back his half of the fruit. “Just tell me what you want.”

“We have to return a text that the elders on P3X-033 were nice enough to let us borrow.”

“With the stipulation that we return it in exactly the same condition we borrowed it in.”

“Okay, well that sounds like a fun afternoon for you guys.” Grips the sides of his tray, now littered with the remains of a tangerine.

“Oh, it would be.” Daniel Two rests his hand on the tray keeping him in place.

“Except Landry wants us in on the conference call with the IOA and Washington to explain the importance of the Clava Thessara Infinitas.” Then Daniel one turns beside him to stare at Vala.

“So someone else is going to have to—”

“Oh no.” Shakes her head as she wipes her hands clean of any tangerine juice. “Why do I always have to clean up after you two?”

“Because you don’t really do anything else around here?” Second Daniel points to First Daniel in agreement.

“Hmmm, well it’s not like I have an entire library of Goa’uld to translate.” Which she does, ‘rescued’ artifacts and texts found buried in various tombs and ruins. “I can’t go anyway, Teal’c is still aiding the cyclone planet.”

“What does that have to do with—”

“This isn’t exactly a two-person job.”

“Buddy system, darlings.” She gulps down the rest of her water bottle leaving her tray in place as she stands. “No off-world excursions unless you have a buddy present.”

“Well I’m sure that—”

“—We could fine you some willing private you haven’t tortured enough with—”

He slams his tray into her abandoned one catching everyone’s attention. “God if you two go away right now, I’ll go with her.”

*

The Jacksons weren’t wrong about the hike. Once they get through the portal they arrive in the middle of a huge meadow littered with different types of flowers and knee-high grass. The sun is bright and high in the sky, and the wind a little humid.

“This is beautiful.” She adjusts her pack, it’s not that full because this is supposed to be a short trip, but she insisted on bringing it anyway in case they found anything interesting. “Do they have places like this on Earth?”

“A lot of places on Earth look like this.” Pushes through the grass until they find a thin, weaving dirt trail leading into the woods. Apparently, they have to follow it through the mountain for about two hours before it forks and takes them into town.

“Someone’s in a sour mood.” Hears the crunch of her footsteps as she rushes to catch up with him. Her shoulder steering him off the path.

“Vala, not now.”

There’s a few more footsteps and the sound of cicada-like insects whistling from the trees.  She trudges on beside him and her voice is steady and stern, “we’re going to be walking for the better part of five hours there and back, Cameron.”

“So?”

“So, we can either talk about what’s got you in this snit, or we can not enjoy ourselves at all today.”

There’s more silence between them, the rustling of a cold wind through the trees and the sun ducks suddenly behind a cloud shading the entire meadow. They’re almost at the treeline. “We had plans for today.”

“We did.”

“We were going to pick out the color for the guest room.”

“We were.”

“And now we can’t because we’re running errands for the Grady Girls.”

“Who?”

“I’ll explain it to you later.”

“Explain it to me now, Cameron.” Moves forward as he holds the branches of a thistle bush out of her way. “You volunteered us for this expedition.”

Follows her and immediately doesn’t like that she’s first into the woods. Her high ponytail swings over her deflated pack, it’s a bit hypnotizing and it almost makes him disclose that he ruined their Friday night plans because of his insecurities.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to because a deep boom of thunder effetely ends their conversation. She stops short and his front slams into her pack. She’s staring upwards at the now dark gray through the canopy. “That didn’t sound to welcoming.”

“Yeah, it didn’t.” Pushes her forward with a flat palm on the small of her back and before they move from the spot, the first fat drop of rain hits the back of his neck.

*

They manage to walk for about another half and hour before the downpour starts, but once it starts it hits hard. Mud starts rolling down the mountain side and they’re soaked through before they make it three steps. The wind picks up whipping leaves and branches. They both start stumble and finding shelter becomes a priority before they slip and fall off the rocky ledge.

The mud is fast, faster than the rain and it sneaks up on them from a groove in the mountainside they’ve been using to hold themselves up. The rain is like being stuck under a showerhead, it’s burning his eyes when he chances opening them, still seeing her dark figure scaling the side. It drowns him, water in every breath, and when his hand slips against the side of the rock, she somehow inherently knows because there’s no way she can see behind her, and no way she can hear his fumble.

Through the rain she grabs a strap on his pack and slings him back against the rocks, they stand huffing, dryland drowning, but grinning like wet idiots from what he can see. There’s a flash of lightning overhead and she squeezes tight against the boulders, he follows with a hand on her pack.

But then the thunder cracks after the lightning strike, right above them and the ground shakes. She doesn’t slip but isn’t quick enough and the mud covers her boots in a heavy current. He slams into her back again. Watches as she struggles to move her feet but the mud is rising and it’s rising fast.

“Cameron.” She has to shout to be heard, and the panic is clear even through the din of the rain. Her legs flail and wobble but the suction is too great.

“It’s okay.” Crouches on the balls of his feet trying to figure out a way to get her boot free, maybe if he diverts the flow, but when he searches for a branch or something to act as a dam he fines the rain has washed everything into the treetops below. The same way she’s starting to lean.

She snaps off her bag and holds it out to him. “Here.”

“I don’t think this is strong enough to divert—”

“No Cameron.” Shoves the pack against his chest and teeters to keep upright, she’s siding towards the edge. “The book is in my bag, you have to get it out of the rain.”

“And leave you?” Water runs over his eyes, his cheeks, into his mouth, the wind is cold.

The ends of her hair drip, her eyelashes clump and cry. “I’ll be right behind—”

Slings the bag around his back and pushes her in towards the rocks. “Like that’s going to happen.”

“You are so hard to please.”  She bends at the waist, rain pouring over her back, hair dipping into the mud, and to him it looks like she’s trying to touch her toes, but through the sheet of rain he can see her fingers working at clasps, at the laces on her boots.

Another crack comes from above them, from the top of the mountain, and there’s another burst of mud flowing their way, taking down trees and shrubs in its path. “Vala.”

She yanks at the tongue of her boot and tugs on her leg, wobbling to the edge. “Honey,” says it with more panic just as she wiggles her feet free. He plucks her up from her buried boots like he’s rooting a tree and falls back holding her.

The mudslide covers her boots as they cough against the water and one final crack leads to the ledge they’re on collapsing toppling them over the mountainside.

*

They manage to survive without too many injuries. In a quick thought he yanked her on top of him, hugging her head to his chest, and then tried to ride their packs like a sled to the bottom. He took a hard rock to his thigh, his bad, already aching thigh and they have a few cuts and bruises but nothing requiring immediate medical attention.

Coincidentally, there’s a large gap in the rocks where they slide to a stop, he taps her hip and she bounces up, tugging him by the arm and into the cave. The rain bursts like a solid white sheet once they’re inside. His thigh seizes up, the muscle knotted, and he drops the packs, his hand clasping along his scar.

“Cameron?” She pads beside him, her clothes and hair dripping water and leaving a trail of her movements and helps him sit down against the rock wall. “Are you okay?”

“Just my thigh.” Tries to be reassuring, but she’s not buying it. Her foot kicks over his pack and slides it underneath his leg which dissolves a bit of the pressure. “Thanks.”

She hooks her barefoot through one of the loop straps of her own pack and drags it inwards. “Do you want any of the pain relievers?”

About to tell her to save them, but she’s already handing him two, with a bottle of water. This is one of those questions she asks when she doesn’t care about the answer, like what color he’s going to paint the guest room. She pushes them into his hands until he sighs, loudly, and then takes them. She pulls out the text wrapped in plastic and examines the damage. “How is it?”

“Not as waterlogged as it should be. A few damp pages though.” She carefully folds the plastic back around it and situates it in the bottom of the pack. “Do you think the storm will let up soon.”

“It should, I mean on Earth it doesn’t rain that hard for that long.”

She doesn’t answer. Instead they both stare at the white wall of water.

*

He falls asleep, the fearless leader, concerned boyfriend that he is, and when he wakes up it’s still raining just as hard. The sound reminds him of thunderstorm season when he was younger on the farm, how they would blow in through the day and roar all night long.

The sleeping bag, the one from his pack, because she didn’t pack one, is zipped open and thrown around him, but he feels her shift beside him. Reaches for her and finds her skin ice cold, her body in tremors. “Jesus, you’re freezing.”

“It’s just my feet, darling.” The words come out clipped from her clacking teeth. Turns her sideways a bit so her feet aim towards him and he tucks them underneath his legs to warm up.

“Has it let up at all?”

She shakes her head, her pale skin still holding a few of the cold raindrops.

*

It stops an hour before sunset. She fell asleep this time, sitting between his legs with the sleeping bag blanketing them both, her hair just starting to dry and her skin just starting to accept his warmth. He wakes her, and when she stretches in his arms, he runs a hand along her spine, rubbing away any lingering stiffness.

“You still want to make the trek to the town?”

“If we don’t, it may ruin any ties the Daniels have made.” She slides her bag back on, but hangs her BDU jacket, still damp, off one of the clips.

When he stands, his thigh isn’t the worse, but it’s not not hurting. They make a slow pace down the dizzying path towards the fork in the road and start toward the village with the sun gone.

*

The book is returned without a hitch, although the elders aren’t so happy about a few of the waterlogged pages, he and Vala don’t really give a crap because they didn’t almost drown in the deluge, which is apparently common for this time of year on the planet and they ‘should’ve know better’. The elders don’t offer a meal, or a room, or her any shoes, so they set back off into the woods armed with a lantern and their scattered directional abilities in the dark.

“You know, I was mad at the Jacksons for not asking me to do this.” He’s on his second round of pain relievers and it’s getting harder to trudge in the dark when he doesn’t know if where his feet fall is even and hard or soft and bumpy.

“You wanted them to ask you?” She’s taken to holding the lamp back a little so the light falls between them instead of solely in front of her, so he can catch better bearings. It’s going to start to cramp her arm soon, and her feet must be killing by now.

Thinks about offering his boots but they’re about four sizes too big for her, and the added room might cause her to fall more. “Everyone thinks I’m too old.”

She gasps and whips around and he catches himself before he runs into her this time. “You are not to old, darling, you’re too important.” Her hand, still cold, touches the side of his face and bugs start to circle around their lantern. “You set us all up and keep us from tumbling, you keep us in our proper places.”

“It sounds like I’m awful.” He takes the lamp from her moving in front and stretching his hand back for her to hold. If the rest of the team were here he might make them make a Kindergarten chain.

“Not at all.” Grasps his hand in both of hers and follows his footsteps serpentining around bigger rocks and branches. “It takes a strong man to put his team first, to lead with the patience and humor you have.”

“I’m not humorous.”

“You’re plenty humorous.”

“You want a joke?” He juts the lantern forward lighting up the area around a familiar cave. “That’s where we were earlier, only two hours and change to the gate.”

But it doesn’t affect her, she doesn’t complain or request a break or talk about how much her feet ache. She just shrugs and holds his hand tighter. “I hope you’re not considering this our excursion for the month.”

Every month he tells her to think of something she wants to do on Earth, and if it’s within their realm of possibilities, then he’ll take her. They’ve gone to a carnival, gone to a paint night at a restaurant—she was much better than him, and gone camping for the night in his backyard, even with a bonfire before the neighbors called the cops. “What’d you have in mind, princess?”

“I’d like to go to the zoo.”

“Why the zoo?”

“I’d like to see the little well-dressed birds.”

“Penguins?”

“Whatever. They’re dapper little fellows.”

*

They forget to look for her government issued boots in the mudslide. Don’t remember until they’re halfway through the meadow and can see the gate glimmer in the moonlight. She’s itching wildly at a mosquito bite on her arm.

“If you don’t stop scratching it’ll leave a scar.”

“I can’t help it.” She stumbles over a dip in the dirt path and takes a few steps to right herself. “It’s so itchy Cameron, help.”

Her hand fists the material at the bottom of his still damp jacket. The summer night was humid, but the winds are starting to pick up again probably signalling another storm. She holds her arm out, and he marks an ‘X’ over top of the bite with his fingernail. His dad always told him it was a way to drain the poison, but he thinks the whole thing rides on the placebo effect. “Better?”

“Better.” She starts walking on the balls of her feet, heels without the actual shoes, and he doesn’t know if they’re going to fight the Jacksons or fall asleep first.

*

After they make it through the gate, they head straight to medical, the usual blood tests and health checks after an off-world mission followed by some sort of hot mixture they both have to drink to kill anything fungal or bacterial in the rainwater.

Lam tests out his thigh and the pain tolerance, while Rix helps Vala with her feet. They’re both sent with minor pain killers, and a mandatory grounding for the next three days.

They climb into her bed, because her bedroom is closer and tend to each other’s injuries. She sits between his legs, but facing him, one leg tucked beneath her and the other in his palm. He massages the bottom of her feet, fingers sliding over the blisters she formed on the hike. One of her fingers traces the scar and then works the muscle, prodding deeply over the skin.

She laughs at the as the Cat-in-the-Hat looms behind a child with a baseball bat and he still mulls over what a purple guest room would look like. “Hey, when did you start being able to pick colors for the guestroom.”

Picks up that mischievous grin for him and rolls over so her head is resting on his only slightly aching thigh. She presses her lips to his skin, and his muscle stiffens again, but for a different reason. “When you started letting me.”

 


	11. Roscoe

She’s starting to relax more around him. He knows this because she scares more easily or admits to being frightened more easily. Expects that something like skyscrapers or airplanes or a backhoe would cause unease in her, but it’s none of those, or fireworks or loud music, or the smoke alarm when it goes off in his place from her putting tinfoil in the microwave. Most of her scares come from movies. Of course, picks on her for it, and she blushes and goes quiet, and he feels bad because this isn’t her planet, and it’s not her fault she didn’t grow up with the parental guidance warnings.

And stupid him, for a night out he takes her to an R-rated slasher flick.

Everything goes great. She loves popcorn and hums over the extra salty, extra buttery, thousand-dollar cinema brand, and he shows her the little secret of tossing some Milkduds in there to get all melty and warm. They share a drink as big as their heads and he holds her hand while they walk into the theater. She’s in awe over the size of the screen and then five minutes later is freezing because she wore this adorable little sundress that shows off her legs, so they snuggle together as he explains the concept of previews to her.

The movie starts and the kids at Camp Crystal Lake or whatever are having a good time, but every time there’s ominous music she darts her eyes over at him, not sure what the musical cues mean yet. When the first murder happens, a quick stab and slash, she screams and starts to panic and how the fuck did he forget that she was Qetesh for like a decade or two?

They abandon the drink and the popcorn, and he rushes her out of the theater and lobby. People look and they’re not as covert as he assumed they’d be. By the time she gets outside into the cool summer night air she’s breathing again. She punches him in the arm, and then grasps onto him, and hits him with less flare again.

Now they mostly watch animated movies, and animal documentaries with a little bit of football, but sometimes she asks him if something is fake or real because it’s till hard for her to tell, and sometimes he has to smash the off button on the television before she gets the chance to ask.

It’s Halloween the day she comes back, and it also happens to be his day off tomorrow. Signed her out for a night of watching army brats dress up as Disney Princesses and Transformers. He’s already parental locked most of the tv channels.

She pops back in with Teal’c, who for once, doesn’t look as fed up as he usually is. The mission was short, less than twenty-four hours off-world to do some recon for the Jacksons who are still sending orders about the Clava thing despite being off-world following up another lead.

“What’s the good news, Teal’c?” Crosses their names off the list and notices the smudge of dirt across her cheek, catching himself before he lets his grin happen.

Teal’c adjusts the heavy pack over his back. “Nothing unusual to report, Colonel Mitchell.”

She lets her pack drop to the ground with a thud and they both look to her. “Sorry,” she smiles sheepishly, “it was hurting my back.”

“Any need for a debrief?”

“Nothing was found, mere ruins of another time, but according to the information the Dr. Daniel Jacksons have provided us, the time is not ancient enough.”

“Fine then. Mission reports.” He gestures to both of them with his clipboard. “And then have a happy Halloween.”

Teal’c bows and strides out of the room.

But she, she looks at him, hiking up her pack like she knows how much he wants to take it from her. For their first few steps she tries to keep up with him, so he slows down his speed until she falls in beside him. They’re doing granny steps, but if anyone asks he can tell them his thigh hurt. His thigh does hurt, but never enough for granny steps.

When they turn the corner together down the hallway to his office, she speaks keeping her voice neutral. “You didn’t inform me that adults could dress up for Halloween as well.”

“I just didn’t want to be encouraging you.”

“Oh Cameron, you know that by ignoring it, I’ll only—”

“Hey hold still.” Something in her hair catches in the light, not a clip, but something smaller, and it might be moving. Her eyes grow wide as he reaches forward, she probably has no idea what he’s doing, and doesn’t know how to handle the physical contact in the public of the base. He plucks a small insect from her hair as it hangs on with tiny legs. “Look at that.”

“Oh, it’s a little woman insect.”

“Ladybug.”

“Look at it’s precious little spots.”  He grins at her, at the sheer wonder in her voice as she takes in a bug that he could pull off a bush outside. “Don’t hurt it.”

“No.” He steadies her hand on his, and they watch it crawl around. “My momma taught me that you blow on it to get it to fly and then make a wish.”

“Oh, we did something similar when I was young.”

“Yeah?” He’s very aware how close he’s getting to her, their noses inches away from butting, her voice just above a whisper.

“Yes, when you released an insect, you sang a lyric, ‘little one, little one, fly away home, your house is on fire and your children are in bed.’”

His mouth hangs open for a split second before she glances up at him with a large grin. “Jesus, Vala.”

“What?”

*

Then he gets the news that they have to stay on base in case of overnight emergencies. Usually Landry would be here, but he’s still stuck in Washington hacking out an alien plan with the IOA, so he and O’Neill are splitting the difference, and O’Neill is no where to be found.

So she doesn’t get to cozy up to him on the couch and watch the Halloween shows on PBS Kids, and he doesn’t get to see whatever outfit she had planned for tonight because he doesn’t even know what it is, but vetoes it because it definitely won’t be appropriate for the base. They do get to order in and he gets the Mitchell Halloween special, an extra-large deluxe pizza with a box of candy for dessert.

“You can put it on a scary movie, Cameron.” She’s on her fourth piece of pizza, sitting cross-legged and balancing the plate in her lap, her toes curl every time she takes a bite.

“No.” he takes a swig of his coke and it’s not the beer he wanted. It’s too sweet and riding on the back of the candy they decided to have before the pizza, at her request, he’s going to be up for hours. “I think you get enough psychological damage working here without adding Freddie or Jason into the mix.”

“Oh, who are Freddie and Jason?” She shoves the rest of the pizza crust into her mouth and drops her paper plate over the edge of the bed.

“No one you want to meet, princess.” Lets out a groan as she shimmies to lay against him, catching her elbow in his rib in the process.

“Now I want to meet them even more.” Her head is heavy on his chest and her hand drags over his stomach to yank the remote from where it’s tucked against his other leg. “What channel?”

He’s about to snatch it back but she gives him that big hopeful grin, the one she gives him when he knows no one has let her do what she’s asking to do so he could be the first. Rolls his eyes and washes a hand over his face. “Fine. But no screaming.”

“At least not while watching the movie.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Chuckles as she plops down at his side again, same elbow, same ribs. This time his arm circles around her shoulders as she clumsily aims the remote flipping through until he tells her to stop. “Just remember none of it is real.”

*

Wakes a little before three in the morning, in the same position with her tucked into his side, the tv flashes the eighth or ninth installment of Friday the 13th and the only movement she gives him is the bob he gives her with the rise and fall of his chest. He’s cold, she’s colder and when he moves his arms they ache with stiffness.

“Princess.” Mumbles against her hair stuck to his lips. She doesn’t stir, so he rubs a hand along her spine, but she doesn’t move. She’s cold, but she’s normally cold, but he pets the hair back out of her face and she doesn’t stir, and she’s a light sleeper. She’s a light sleeper.

Sits up and she tumbles off him, and he’s lightheaded from something, from panicking, but it doesn’t feel like that. Drops his ear to her chest, while checking for a pulse at her wrist. It’s faint. It’s so faint and how—when—lays her on her back and covers her mouth with his breathing out.

She immediately coughs and slaps him in the side of the head. “Cameron, what—”

But he gathers her against him, she smells like pizza and Hersey’s bars and he keeps kissing the top of her head. “You weren’t breathing.”

“What?” Coughs against his bicep, and he releases her, holding her by the shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m—I’m a little dizzy.”

“Me—” about to agree when something skitters from her hair over his hand. He flicks his hand at the tickle of little legs, watching her flinch at the action, and in the blue light of the television, a bug the size of a cockroach scrambles away.

*

They sit across from each other in a nice little nook in medical bay. He hates it here. Hates being in here. Hates when she’s in here. And since they’re both in here, he’s sort of seething, but the oxygen is nice. Lam took one look at them and brought out the masks, clipped little sensors to their fingers and squinted her eyes.

Lied about what they were doing. Not that sleeping on each other is frowned upon, but they don’t need rumors, true rumors, spreading around. Instead they were just eating supper, which is true, and then they both passed out, which is also true, and then she wasn’t breathing, again true. Left out the part where he had a small heart attack trying to wake her up.

Bumps his knees against hers, and she turns away from watching the numbers change on the monitor. She has blue lips, he wants to tell her that, but he’s not supposed to take the mask off until Lam says so. Instead he lets her take his hand, draw calming, barely there lines up his arm, relaxing him as he keeps a lookout.

His eyes keep drifting back to her hair, loose and hanging with her slightly bent head. Something about her hair, he’s having a hard time remembering. But it happened in the hall. Happened before the equipment room, before she changed. Something in her hair, a clip.  

No, not a clip. A poem. A poem about a fire.

Yanks the mask away from his face. “What was the poem you said earlier.”

“Cameron, keep the mask on,” garbles it out from underneath the hiss of oxygen.

“Just. Humor me.” Voice stilted because talking tires him and why the hell couldn’t the Jacksons get whatever they have.

Tugs the mask down enough that her words come out clear. “Little one, little one, fly away home.”

“Your house is on fire and your children are in bed.” Leans forward and slips the mask back over her mouth, letting his own pinch back onto his nose. “I know what did this.”

*

The Jacksons return from off-world without an insect hitchhiker, and perfectly working lungs. “You let an alien species run free in the complex?”

“Are there three of him?” She squints her eyes, sort of leaning into him. Her added weight against his body makes him slump to the side.

“Sorry princess.” Taps her thigh reassuringly and he might hate these nostril tubs more than he hated the mask. “Only two.”

They both have splitting headaches, but at least now they know that the ‘ladybug’ is responsible for their lack of oxygen. The Jacksons worked their research magic and found it’s a species only found in low oxygen areas, like the high ruins where the Big Guy and Vala were. It feeds on oxygen, clearing the area of it, and the entire seventh floor has been evacuated and quarantined. The rest of the medical bay is full of majors and commanders who are oxygen deprived, the hissing of tubes is excessive and Lam is not happy.

“Either of you actually want to give us information that will help?” Second Daniel is sassy and blurry.

“Sorry I’m not so quick to answer, I’m still trying to get more oxygen.”

She leans her forehead against his shoulder and he knows it’s bad, or might be bad, maybe a little bad, but not why, only stops himself from petting her hair. “My head hurts.”

“Well Vala, maybe next time—”

“Don’t even.” Holds up a hand to stop them, his eyes heavy and he could use a nap, fall asleep holding her, but then she might stop breathing again and his eyes snap open.

“We need a plan, Mitchell.”

“A plan for what?’ Her head is heavy on his shoulder and when he glances over she’s asleep. He smiles.

First Daniel clears his throat. “A plan to capture or kill whatever insect she brought back.”

“Lighten up. She didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Mitchell, both of us know what’s going on.”

He narrows his eyes in concentration and the Jackson faces solidify in his view. “Going on where?”

“With you two.”

“What—”

Vala bursts awake, the force of her sitting up yanking the tubes from her nose and stunting her movement. “Take an oxygen tank.”

“Put these back in.” Hands the tubes to her, but she swats away his hand. “We can take an oxygen tanks to the seventh floor and it will allow us to search for the woman bug.”

“Ladybug.” He corrects tucking the tubes back behind her ear. Her hair is soft and very pretty. Wait it was something about her hair. Something was in it.

“It’s not a ladybug, it’s an off-world alien depleting our oxygen supply.”

*

They take portable oxygen with them into level seven. The tanks slung over their shoulders like backpacks and the constant hiss of air drowning is starting to get annoying. He takes lead with Daniel Two, how he knows it’s Daniel Two he doesn’t know and frankly doesn’t want to know, but they trek on ahead, weapons ready, while Vala and Daniel One poke their heads into rooms to search for the bug.

“If what Sam and I—”

“Us.” Second Daniel corrects the first.

“If what we concluded is true, the bug may have molted several times by now and may be bigger than any insect natural found on Earth.”

“Great.” His voice is less than excited as he sweeps his gun left to right while they turn down an adjacent hallway. Behind him Vala and Daniel One open a door, each on the opposite sides of the hallway. “A ladybug the size of a housecat is something I’ve always wanted to see.”

“Oh, it may be just a squish bigger than that.” Standing in the doorway, her gun half drawn, she points into the room, and they break formation to glance inside.

He doesn’t know what he expects. Maybe the dried-up corpse of the bug, pincers and six little legs in the air as it rolls around a husk on it’s back. Or maybe the shed skin of it, brittle and crispy, in the corner of the room. What he doesn’t expect is a bug the size of a Holstein to be standing in the middle of a conference room.

He and the Jacksons draw their guns, “Vala why didn’t—”

“The poor thing is scared.” She takes a step forward and the bug keens up and tries to tuck further into the corner.

“That thing is an alien that is literally—”

“Suffocating us, even as we—”

“Vala.” Grabs her arm when she takes another step forward, the bug chitters and he tries to drag her back but only manages to keep her in place. They have no idea what the insect can do, if it’s carnivorous, if it likes the taste of people. “The Jacksons are right.”

“What if it’s laid eggs all over this floor?”

“We’re going to have to do an entire sweep of—”

“Well, he’s male.” Tugs her arm away while interrupting, he tries to grab for her again but she’s already taken three steps towards the now bucking bug with thrashing mandibles and he really doesn’t want to see her get eaten by a ladybug. He really doesn’t want to have to explain to Landry why she was bisected by a ladybug.

But she just keeps even steps, humming the nursery rhyme she told him before. It chitters and then sort of roars, but she keeps a steady hand forward and rubs the top of its head softly behind the eyes. It sort of nods it’s head around, getting her scent or something, and then he swears that the thing starts purring.

“There’s a perfect boy,” she praises the giant, hellish insect and at this point he’s not even sure why he wastes the energy in being surprised.

*

“Yes Sir.” Nods as General Landry reminds him to go over off-world protocols. “I’ll run through it again with all the teams and talk with Dr. Lam and Lee about creating a decontamination area.”

“Sounds good, son.”  The General speaks more, but he really doesn’t hear the words as he steps down the stairs from the control room and into the gate room, where Vala murmurs encouragements to the ridable insect as she feeds it a frozen chicken. The Jacksons watch her while pressed back against the wall, One covers his mouth with his hand, and Two rolls his eyes. “Catch me up tomorrow.”

“Will do, Sir.” Clicks the phone off and stands beside her cooing to what is essentially any villain from any space movie before the 1960s. But she pats the bug on the head and tosses it a drumstick. “What a handsome boy you are, Roscoe.”

“I’m sorry, Roscoe?” Daniel One pipes up from the wall.

“You named him Roscoe?” He chuckles because of course she did, and she’s so happy about it, that he barely hears the continued Jackson rant.

“She can’t be naming the alien monsters, Mitchell—”

She sticks her tongue out at the Daniels and shrugs her shoulders at him. Then scratches the bottom of the bugs head. “He likes it. He’s just a perfect boy.”

“Well your perfect boy is going to have to go through the gate now before he gets any bigger and won’t fit.”

Nodding, she pats Roscoe on the head one final time. “You be a good boy when you get back. Just because you’re large doesn’t mean you can bully the others.” When she stands and walks reluctantly out of the oxygen field, Roscoe tries to follow her, chittering and tilting his head.

Chevrons begin clanking into place and they stand to the side where the Jacksons have congregated. She waves, tucking an arm around her chest and wearing a little bit of a frown. Daniel Two drops his arm around her shoulder jostling her into better spirits as they watch Roscoe climb the ramp and skitter into the gate.

“They grow up so fast, don’t they?”


	12. A Glow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of this very moment I'm writing the last chapter of this story which will bring the total chapters up to 29. I also have a hilarious sequel planned focusing on the Daniel clones, but I need to finish my Unending fic first before I can work on it.

“Rodriguez, buddy.” He spins around a corner marching down the corridors, trying to knock things off his to-do list, which is more like a to-do novel. Thought that he would throw himself into work after their fight last week but that’s not exactly what happened. Instead she threw herself into work, volunteered to accompany the Jacksons in a ruin excavation. It was a weeklong journey that they’ve prolonged for two more days now and part of his mind thinks that they’re just living happy colonial lives in an off-world forest. It’s the same part of him that thinks he’s a massive idiot for screaming at her and then sending her off with the Jacksons, which two and half years ago would’ve been her greatest fantasy.

“You just think I can’t pull my weight. Is that it?” The kid is determined, that’s for sure, but unless he’s an archeologist fluent in thirty something languages, or said archaeologist’s clone, persistence doesn’t usually crack him.  

“That is exactly it.” He knocks on Communications’ door and drops in two thick file folders of his reports from the last month. Vala upsetting planetary natives, Teal’c on the cyclone planet, the Jacksons contaminating half the water supply with some ancient gizmo, Teal’c back to the cyclone planet, Sam requesting to go back to Atlantis again, Teal’c still on the goddam cyclone planet, Vala and the Jacksons prolonging their mission into hippie living, probably somehow contaminating the water supply.

Rodriguez steps in front of him, blocking his way, did he learn that from Vala, from watching her command attention when no one would give it to her. It’s how he ended up taking her to his high school reunion, it’s how he ended up doing a lot of shit with her that he shouldn’t have done and wouldn’t have if she wasn’t so commanding. So gorgeous. So gone for ten days now. “Look, you don’t know if I can do anything because you never let me try.”

He’s not angry about the fight still. “You’re a private, your job isn’t to try, it’s to do what I say.”

Okay, so maybe he’s a bit angry about the fight still, mostly because it’s been almost two weeks with no contact which means no making up or even talking about it more, it’s like a stagnant gross smelling puddle he wakes up to every day and it’s just still there. It bugs him because he said a lot of things that were true that she thought were fake and he never justified them. Bugs him because he sort of bulldozed over her response when it wasn’t the same or as excited as his.

“Look Man—Sir. Just, put me somewhere else. Somewhere where the action is.”

Teal’c picks the perfect moment to round the corner, gear packed on his back ready to head back to Cyclone World for another stint in first-aid response. “Perfect, Teal’c always needs another body to help him sift through rubble, isn’t that right Big Guy?”

“Indeed.”

“Wait—no I meant—” But he just stops, his complaints just die away and with a reserved huff he walks towards the locker room to get changed.

He nods at Teal’c before continuing on his errand list, getting an update from Lam on the status of SG-3 after their food poisoning and now somehow early symptoms of scurvy. Run down to HR and figure out how many paternity leaves he can actually approve because four in the last year is a little suspicious.

“Colonel Mitchell,” Teal’c calls him back before he gets two steps. He drowns the groan and turns back with a stern smile. “I wanted inform you that Vala Mal Doran and Dr. Daniel Jacksons have returned from off-world.”

“Perfect.” Crosses out ‘eat lunch’ written in all caps and writes ‘debriefing’ in instead. It can’t take more than an hour.

*

It takes two hours.

Just two hours of the Jacksons talking about Clava Theresa whatever, something that has long since fallen off his dial since Athena’s gone underground and silent for the last few months. But the Wonder Twins are still very much into it, so much into it that they have a PowerPoint presentation that they had to have made off-world and he can just picture them sitting side by side at a fire typing up all the information and critiquing the hell out of each other.

The door creaks open when they’re on slide one forty-two out of one seventy-seven and Vala pops in. The Jacksons pause for a second, then roll their eyes, then continue on in their lecture.

“Nice of you to join us, princess.” It’s the first words he’s spoken to her in almost three weeks, the first words since he told her to ‘just go’ and he definitely could have picked better ones, but a two-hour lecture on rock carvings is bound to get most people a little irritated. “Didn’t get the memo about the debriefing that follows ninety-nine percent of off-world missions?”

“If you _must_ know,” she stretches out the words like the Jacksons are stretching out this presentation. “I was receiving treatment in the medical bay.”

That shuts up. Whatever sarcastic comeback he was going to sling evaporates on the tip of his tongue and suddenly he feels very in tune with Rodriguez. “What?”

“Would you like me to ask Dr. Lam for a note next time?” She still has the smirk and the overdramatic wording.

He forgets about the fight and about the presentation. “You okay?”

“Excuse me.” Daniel One waves, his face illuminated by the overhead presentation.

“Look if you two aren’t going to take this seriously maybe we should just—”

He stands from the head of the table, trying not to look at her, assess her for injuries. Did she walk with a limp? She might have walked with a limp. “Yeah, Jacksons, just give me the short answer version.”

“We have almost undisputable proof that the Clava Thessara Infinatus exists and—”

“Great write up the report and put it on my desk.” Then he just leaves because he can’t talk to her in front of them. Can barely talk to her at all now, and maybe now he can just fall back into the pile of work he has.

*

Gets a good few hours of paperwork done, then glances over the list of planets requesting aid, the ones who are open to interplanetary allies, and the ones that aren’t but have a prime location for a defense system.

“Colonel Mitchell?” The office assistant pokes her head through the door, red hair bundled on top of her head and her mouth loudly working on a big piece of gum.

“Yeah?” He doesn’t look up from scratching down the names of random planets to give to the research teams to rank.

“Is your name with one L or two?”

“It’s with two Ls—” He’s about to say her name and he doesn’t know it. She’s told it to him before and he still doesn’t know it. He groans into his palm.

“It’s Gloria.”

“I know what it is.”

“Are you feeling okay, Colonel Mitchell.” She sort of saunters into the room and he’s seen that walk before, he knows that walk and that walk is definitely not good. “I never see you leave the mountain anymore. You do have a house, right?”

“Just got a lot of work, Gloria.” He shoos her away with his hand as she approaches the desk, but it doesn’t convince her. She sits on the edge watching him from the side. “You can go, Gloria.”

“I just think it’s sad that you never get out—”

“I get out,” grumbles as he stands and now points her to the door. “But doing this pile of work is a little more important.”

“Well if you ever wanted someone to go out with—”

There’s a knock at the door and for a second he’s grateful until it opens and Vala’s there holding out a piece of paper. “Oh.” She pauses, her face falls as she understands their stances, and if he didn’t know her so well he would’ve missed it.  “I just needed this signed but if you’re busy at the moment—”

“He’s very busy,” Gloria answers, and hops down from the desk. “Isn’t that right, Colonel Mitchell?”

“Out. Now.” All but shoves her to the door where Vala stands with furrowed eyebrows meaning she’s either confused or hurt. Once Gloria’s out of the room he slams the door shut. “Sorry about that.” Leans into his hand against the door just in case she tries to pop back in. “What did you need.”

“Oh Cameron,” Vala chuckles at him, pressing by and moving towards his desk. “Isn’t she a bit too young for you?”

He’s not listening because she’s leaning over his desk grabbing one of the heavy metal pens he only uses when he has to look professional. “What?”

“Your office attendant.”

“Assistant,” corrects, a little of the spirit gone from his voice as he crosses the room. She’s scribbling something on the page. “And she’s not just mine, she’s the office’s.”

“Of course she is, dear.” Drops the pen back to his desk but she when turns to duck back out the door he’s standing in her way.

“Want to tell me what I just signed on for?”

“What ever do you mean?”

“You just forged my signature, you want to tell me why?” Sidesteps out of her way, knowing her better than to just burst out of the room. Maybe a few years ago she would’ve but they’ve shared too much since then to be that disrespectful.

She sighs, lips in a bit of a pout, and slides the paper over to him, complete with a perfect copy of his signature. “I’m only to be allowed on certain mission over the course of the next two weeks.”

“Why?” Skims through the wall of text greeting him. Lam’s overly analytical and wordy explanation using scientific terms he has no clue about.

“Well.” Plays with her fingers until she walks to his side of the desk, perching at the corner. Just in mid-walk with no effort at all. She does it way better. “On this last mission with the Daniels, I was sort of caught in a cave-in.”

“How much caught.”

“Oh, all the way.”

“Dammit, Vala—” Shoves his chair back to stand up, but she places a hand gently on his shoulder.

“I’m fine, I just got a little scratch when I fell.”

“Did you lose consciousness?”

“No, in all the mishaps that have happened it’s probably the most benign.”

“Then why the mission stipulations.”

“That is for the rest of the team.” Pops down off the table and clicks his desk lamp off.

Stands now, watching her walk to the door and at first he thinks she’s going to play one of those secretive games where she gives him forty percent of the info he needs and he has to fill in the rest of the blanks. But she doesn’t, she just stops at the door. “I got my teensy cut by scraping my leg against a rock with some algae on it.”

“Okay.”

“The Daniels said the algae is a bioluminescent variety, and I took on that property when some of the slime got int through the cut.”

“What property?”

Then she flicks off the lights, and stands glowing before him, a light bluish color highlighting her body with darker tints swirling around her arms and cheeks. When he doesn’t say anything she just shrugs wearing the same nervous expression she did when she found out about the pollen.

“Are you in any pain?”

“No, just a little blue.”

He rolls his eyes, and nervously smacks his hand down on the edge of the desk.  “So at night you’d basically give our position away to any enemies or predators.”

“That’s the gist of it.” Stretches her arms out to observe her own glow, blue but somehow warm. Her eyes focus back on his, whites the only part of her voided of blue. “Are you still upset about our squabble?”

Doesn’t interrupt her ramble as he steps towards her, watching the reflections of her glow dance against the ground like aquarium water.

“Because I think I was just hungry which would explain a lot and—”

Doesn’t tell her how gorgeous she is, how she looks like something unnaturally natural, how she actually looks alien now. Just covers the space between them and stitches the words to her with kisses. She grins against his lips, deepening the kiss, her arm hooking around his neck.  

Bows his forehead to hers, his eyes closed against the soft nightlight glow of her skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”


	13. Armageddon

He wakes up facedown on the floor in the hallway leading to the Jacksons’ lab. The lights are half on and half off, none stay on constantly, just flickering and when he tries to push himself up he finds resistance, then finds a pretty big piece of the ceiling holding down his back. With a groan he manages to rotate, and he punts the crumbling piece of ceiling off him.

What happened?

 Doesn’t remember what happened and when he stands his head swims for a bit, making his steps not all his own, not all solid planting on the ground, but he picks his way through the debris. There’s a private caught underneath a mangle of concrete and piping, when he stoops to check for a pulse he doesn’t find one.

The walls tremble, and he steps sideways a few feet, his hand bouncing him off the wall. He rights himself, and pivots back to the lab, to the Jacksons, who, if they’re there, might have some insight as to what’s going on. A piece of piping swings down from the ceiling, electrical cords dangling out like vines. He ducks around it and spins into the brief recess in the wall at the lab doors.

Double doors that won’t budge and he rams his shoulder into them.

Then again followed with a deep cough lined with whatever dust has been waiting in the ceiling.

Then again until he feels like he might pass out.

Dizzying and light footed again.

Attacked.

They were attacked.

From who? By who? From where? Touches the bridge of his nose and finds it a bit swollen but prodding the rest of his face reveals no other injuries. What was he doing when it happened. The first hit happened without warning, then the alarm started screaming, lights went off and the backup generator kicked on. He was in the briefing room or conference room or whatever they’re calling it this week.

Runs down the hall, feet still not all there, but he’s got a gait going well. Turns into the stairwell, and makes it up a storey in a flash, then he’s in the conference room looking at the rubble piled on the table, the blackboards and white boards and that screen they pull down whenever the Jacksons do one of their long PowerPoint presentations, are crushed on the ground.

He was telling Landry, about the threat of an Ori resurgence based off information that SG-1 tracked through the most outer rim planets, the ones that felt the grip of the Ori the strongest. Despite all things in Origin being dead: the ascended, Adria, the Doci, the Priors, people still hold the word of the book true. The Jacksons agreed that it took precedence over the Clava Thessara Infinitas, and Teal’c agreed to take a team to P3J-155 to speak with the people about a peaceful outcome. He and Vala were going to stay and research—

Vala.

A harsher, deeper quake rips through the building and more dust spills from the ceiling. Vala was going to the lab to grab the Book of Origin the Jacksons kept, and he was going to meet up with her, but then the attacks happened, are happening. The room shakes, and he slams the door shut, running down the stairs to the gate room, frantically trying to remember the code to the Bravo location. London, he thinks it’s in London, but if they had a gate in London why did Daniel need to fly there a few years ago after he took command. Might be Egypt. Hopes it’s not Antarctica.

Has to find her, find out if she’s still here, so the gate room is first because he can scroll through the login codes to the DHD and see if she’s left, but the room a mess, barely functioning with all the computers down. Black screens, a caved in ceiling, and a slightly angled gate. The DHD is fizzling, shooting a few sparks that bounce off the collapsed ceiling before dying out.

He can’t dial out.  

He knows her. He just has to think. She wouldn’t leave without him, at least not voluntarily, would actually probably volunteer to stay behind in that self-sacrificing thing she does so often. Her room? His room? The cafeteria? Weapons lockup? That one wins out because it makes the most sense. It’s further down in the mountain, so likely more stable and she would want to arm herself immediately.

Pivots to exit the room only to find three soldiers dressed in makeshift Ori armor aiming their staffs at him. He jumps behind the DHD box and listens to the electronics fry more. He’s unarmed, just in Air Force fatigues, and the blasts are getting so close to him that they’re burning his eyes. He closes them and ducks his head down until a gun rings out, not a energy blast, but a P-90. The sound of bullets ricocheting off metal armor twangs through the room until all exchange of fire stops.

Huffs in a breath, his body boxed in, trying to conceal himself behind the podium in case it’s a trick, in case the thing with the gun is worse. Hears almost the feather touch of footsteps and his head shoots up from behind the device. “Vala?”

“Darling!” Drops the gun and runs to him. She has a bit of a limp and there’s already a tear in her pants. Her arms are wide, and he swoops her up, her hitting him with such force that he tumbles back a bit. Her knees are at his hips and she almost climbs up him, angles his head up and crashes her lips into his, curls her body against his. “Oh Cameron, I thought—”

“I know.” Kisses her in quick succession, while trying to stay upright and not topple over. His back starts to seize up from being blanketed by a ceiling chunk and his thigh throbs. But he keeps kissing her because she’s alive, she’s safe. “Oh God I thought—”

“I know.” She pecks the tip of his nose and he lowers her to her feet. She leans her head in against his chest and he collects the strands of hair sticking to her face with sweat. “What happened?”

“I don’t remember. One minute we were talking about the Ori, and the next I woke up under a blanket of ceiling. You?”

She tugs on his hand while she goes to retrieve her gun. She’s favoring her left leg, but it doesn’t seem to the be her ankle but her hip angles out. “I had the book of Origin in the Daniels’ lab and the next thing I knew I was running away from Ori soldiers.” Stoops with the right side of her body and swipes the P-90 off the ground without fully bending. “I managed to make it to the armory easily enough, but they shot the DHD while I was in there.”

“You should’ve gone to Bravo site.” Grabs the gun from her thigh holster and she doesn’t even blink. “It’s protocol.”

“Yes, and I’m sure you awakening in the hallway outside of the Daniels’ lab had nothing to do with it being my last location.” Nods towards the doorway, and he takes the lead. Can hear her injury with every stuttered step.

Tosses a rock down the hallway and when nothing comes out to shoot it, he nods ahead. “I never told you I work up there.”

“You didn’t?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Lucky guess then.”

*

They make a to-do list, a really hard one. First head to medical and grab supplies they might need with already sustained injuries, of if they get unlucky and take a staff blast.

“One blast is enough to kill.” Tells him again as she peels a bandage and sticks it to the open cut on his cheek. He’s watching the door, but more so watching the way her body sways in and out of his line of sight.

He holds his hands to her hips to steady her but comes down too hard on the left and she lets out a hiss while teetering sideways.

“Sorry princess.” Grabs her arm before she loses her full footing and manages to steady her that way. She has her leg off the ground like an injured pony they once took in on the farm “I’m really sorry, I forgot.”

Hands fly to his shoulders and she rolls her left foot in the air, her hips still slide unevenly. “About what?”

“About your hip.”

She lets go of his shoulders just as quick, her eyes narrowing at him briefly, before twisting and limping to the side cabinet with the pain relievers and expertly picking the lock. “I never told you about my hip.”

“No, but I can sort of see it in the way you walk.” Pushes himself off the cold, metal table and grabs what looks like someone’s lunchbox, zipping it open to take what they need.

She hums, wearing a bit of a smirk and leaning into him on purpose. “You watch my hips that often?”

“Baby, if I’m ever not watching your hips I’m probably dead.”

*

There’s no telling how many of them are in the building, and neither of them remember in exact details what happened. They put it aside, what was happening before, because it’s not important how the Ori came to be here, but more important on how to get rid of them.

Follows her through the hall shadows, over sets of half stairs and railings she still topples over despite her injured hip, railings he follows her over despite his thigh and back. They sneak through the backdoor of the cafeteria and sit on the floor in the kitchen eating anything the get their hands on. They don’t speak at all. It’s only been a day, but it feels more like a year. It feels like a lifetime.

She falls asleep against his side from sheer exhaustion while still chewing food. They’re both being real stupid about this. Need to secure a stronghold, a place where the Ori won’t think to look for them. The dorm level is compromised, buried away between layers of rubble. People could be left down there, and the leader in him wants to look, to find a way through and save those who need it, but the other half of him, the more level-headed bastard during times of duress, knows it would lead to their death.

So instead he rests his head against hers while they sit propped against bulky metal kitchen cabinets in the bare minimum of light.

When he closes his eyes he immediately opens them, but it’s sometime later, and they’re not in the cafeteria anymore.

*

He’s the first to start losing it, knew he would be because she’s just so damn calm and enthusiastic in bad situations. Birthed a daughter who slaughtered millions, watched her die, and then ascend as what might be the ultimate evil, and he bets if Adria came back right now, Vala would still talk to her.

It’s been three weeks, and they’re always on the move, nomadic in a building they know down to the bottom corners of. Hole up in a third level janitor’s closet. He collects supplies during the day, food, water, weapons, ammo, medical supplies for their worsening conditions, while she thumps around in the air ducts, trying to find a lead into level two and then the main level where they’ll have access to outside.

She comes back dropping her bag on the floor. They don’t have a bed, they don’t have a cot, they have two sleeping bags and a flat hard concrete floor. Two days ago, he found them pillows and they almost cried from the comfort.

“I’m making progress, Cameron.” She’s covered in dirt, her hair browned with air duct dust and her teeth whiter from the contrast. “How did you fare?”

“Didn’t princess,” groans as he shifts his weight, his back flat against the wall and the closet is stuffy from three times recycled air. She stops rifling through her bag. “Had to stop. The pain was bad.”

Hates to admit it to her, hates to admit it to anyone, but especially her, especially in this situation because the way she walks, how her hip clicks into place now with a more pronounced limp that he can feel like the teeth grinding in his mouth, he knows she aches too and he’s too weak to compete. Didn’t keep up his end of the bargain. He failed and he’s upset as shit.

But she doesn’t even toss any of those insinuations at him, just lowers herself beside him, hands scaling down the wall until she falls on angled knees, side-saddled on the floor. “Show me.”

“Where it usually is.”

Doesn’t even look at her because he’s sick of this, of what happened, of how he knows nothing of what’s going on or where anyone else is. Sick of her having to knead her fingers into this thigh every night and every morning to provide him some sort of relief because the pain pills aren’t doing it anymore.

“I’m almost to level two.” Her side, her ribs lean across his legs, his shins, and she’s slowly sinking to the ground, both her hands working over his muscle. “I think tomorrow I might breech—”

“I can’t do this anymore, Vala.”

“Can’t do what?” She laughs, meant to play it off as misunderstanding, but it’s nerves.

“Any of this shit.” Stretches his arms almost touching the other side of their home. “You realize we’ve made our own prison.” She won’t look at him and he tries to level his voice because form the bits he can remember, he knows this isn’t her fault. “We’ve made our own grave.”

Her voice is small, soft, barely a whisper and not her own. “Cameron, it’s okay to be frustrated—”

“Stop.” Grabs her hands, directing them away from him. She reaches for his face and he snatches her hand in midair. “Stop.”

Scales the wall, doing the reverse she did, using the palms of his hands as support while hiking himself up on a rickety, useless leg. Then brushes by her to the door.

“Don’t please,” Reaches for him as he hobbles to the door, cracking it to glance down the hallway for any Ori soldiers. She piles herself back up, hisses when her foot hits the ground too hard and limps behind him. “Cameron, please don’t go, just talk with—”

He shuts the door on her.

*

Doesn’t know how long he’s away but he manages find an equipment room he hasn’t been in before, one he doesn’t remember, but that might be because it’s just for uniforms. They both need a change of clothes, so he grabs a pack and shoves an extra pair of pants, a shirt, and a jacket in for each of them.

Trails soldiers at the end of the hallway by the cafeteria, and sneaks in the back door filling up two of the water bottles he’s collected and grabbing what little food remains. The pack is starting to get full. Contemplates zipping by the medical bay, but he’s starting to get worried for her, knows she’s worried about him.

She’s laying on their double stacked sleeping bag mattress facing the wall with her bad leg resting up on her bag. Knows she’s not asleep, but moves quietly despite it. Didn’t have supper for tonight, but at least they have breakfast for tomorrow.

Shuffles over to her, hands against the wall again as he lowers himself behind her. Slides to fit against her, and when his hands slide down her arm to her elbow she twitches to knock him off, but he won’t let her.

“I’m sorry,” kisses the words into her hair.

She doesn’t flinch away but remains very tense under him. Expects her to give him shit about something, about leaving, about how he doesn’t have to try so hard if he aches, about how he just needs to hold onto hope for a few more days until she can break to the surface. But she doesn’t.

Instead she reaches back, her hand grabbing his, fingers entwining. “We’re each other’s most prized possession. We can’t afford to be irate with each other.”

“So how do I make it better?”  Breathes it into her ear, lips tugging at the lobe until she spins back, jerking against the weight of her body on her hip. “We don’t—”

But they really do. Really need to, because he thinks it’s been a week and it’s driving him insane. Close to her but too tired to touch her, too pained to try to start something, more pressing matters on hands, but he needs it and knows she does too

“Kiss me.”

So he does.

Brash and unexpected while her tongue holds the words. Hand bundling in her clumped and tangled hair, the other burrowing beneath her shirt.

She kisses him back, and they both start to sit up, pull each other up because room is limited, light is limited, and they need to ride this feeling out while they still can. Tries to guide her back off her hip, but it sends a spiking ache through his thigh making him break the kiss. “You’re going to have to be on top.”

Tugs off his shirt and shoves him backwards with the palm of her hand against his shoulder. “What else is new?”

*

A week later she cracks into level two but finds nothing but piles of debris. Almost all the air ducts are blocked and there is only one light that continues to work. But she doesn’t lose hope, even when he knows it’s a lost cause she smiles and tells him the ways she can work around it and oddly enough, her attitude is actually starting to restore his. Her belief becomes his belief and instead of shooting down her suggestions he supports them.

They have a run of good luck,when he finally cracks into the pantry and the still working freezer in the kitchen after two days of picking at scraps. She bounces on her feet when he shows her, and they collect a bag’s worth of groceries in his pack.

On the way back to their closet, which has more pillows and a third sleeping bad he found in an abandoned pack, he tosses her an orange in the flickering lights and she plucks it from the air, her glee palpable, will be palpable once they get back and comfortable.

But the soldiers come out of nowhere and she doesn’t see them. But he does, and he hooks an arm around her waist and yanks her down an adjacent hallway, one they don’t get very far down because large chunks of concrete block them from little more than using it for cover.

“I thought they were gone?” Tries to peek around the corner with him, but a staff blast hits close to them and the light is enough to make them recoil.

“Well they’re back.”

*

After almost getting shot down, he took out four out of five soldiers and she took the fifth with the lucky last bullet, he refuses to separate from her because he feels the weight of her words hit him like it was a staff blast. They only have each other. They alternate days, one for digging up, and other for supply and stock. Using this routine it takes her three months to break into the main level.

They clamor through the rocks, bruises and cuts gnawing into their hands and knees. She gets up first and has a head run and he’s so afraid that something is going to take her out, that a soldier lays in wait for someone to work the door, but then he’s there behind her in a flash, just standing in the outside air which is not as he imagined it would be.

The sky is red and hazy with a thick layer of black smoke collecting and blotting out the sun. Highrises from downtown stand aflame and everything smells like sulfur. A few flakes of ash pepper down from the sky and stick to her hair, and he watches the look of hope she’s held for so long and nursed and never given up on, die on her face.

*

He stands guard at the locker room door while she showers, and he pretends that he doesn’t hear her sob as she washes the remnants of a world she was barely allowed to interact with from her hair and off her body.

*

It’s his turn now, and he sits with his back against the wall, her left leg in his lap as he rotates it, stretching the muscles, pressing the bottom of her foot and bending her knee to give her more mobility back. She lays on their four sleeping bag mattress makeshift bed, again facing the wall with her hands tucked underneath her head and not saying a damn word.

Lifts her leg up, knee bent to work her hip, but she resists it, and her leg becomes heavy until falls back into his lap. “Vala?”

“What’s the point?”

Rubs her thigh, plucks over the wrinkles growing in the fabric, in the pants that are getting far to big for her because there’s not enough food anymore. They have little to no fruit left, just a few cans of veggies, and protein in the form of peas and beans. When he sat down and did the math, they probably have to the end of the week for food. Maybe the end of next week if they don’t eat every other day.

“I was going to save this for when you were feeling better, but I have a plan.”

“Your plans are awful.”

“They’re not always awful.”

“Just shoot me now and put me out of my—”

“Okay, lighten up.” It’s half command, half laugh because she’s so moody, and he’s seen her moods before, most of them, never her insane with rage or devastatingly depressed, but this is her dramatic sadness.

“Just tell me about the death plan.”

“It’s not a death plan.”

*

It’s a death plan.

Basically, a death ultimatum.

Fix the DHD box and get the hell out of Dodge or die trying. The soldiers like to stay around the gate room, maybe they’ve got some sort of portable DHD that fires it up because they are damn near never ending.

Agree to spend two days gathering supplies, mostly weapons and ammo because most of theirs is spent. The armory, where all the P-90s and zats are, is on the lower level and even if they had another three months she couldn’t burrow down close enough. Instead they have the auxiliary weapon’s lockup where weapons go after being returned from missions, which leaves them with one zat and one sidearm. They have a little leftover ammo from her P-90, but not enough to really help that much.

“Man, I wish things were different.” He yanks up his pants keeping his weight off his bad thigh, then grabs her bra from where it landed over their pack.

“Well if wishes were hand grenades.” She trails off, fastening her bra and letting her hair fall back over her shoulders.

Doesn’t even try to correct her because if something goes south, and it probably will, he doesn’t want one of his last memories after their ‘we’re probably going to die’ wild sex, to explaining to her mixed up idioms she half understands.

*

They’re in the gate room in a blink and he spins once taking in the room, trying to remember the hallways they used to get here, and he can’t. “Vala do you know how we—”

“No, I don’t.” She doesn’t seem to care about them practically teleporting here, and kneels beside the box, that after four months is no longer spitting sparks, pulling the side off to look at the damage. Crystals and wires are everywhere, and he has no idea how she understands half of it.

Half is exactly what she gets to before the soldiers, five of them again, flood through the doorway with their staffs drawnS. he yanks him down behind the box with her. His head tucked against her shoulder as they sort of coil around each other for protection. They shoot back but it only draws more fire, and the heat from the energy blasts on his face is familiar again, like being in a dentist’s chair under the light.

The P-90 runs out, and the soldiers blast the zat clear from his hand. He falls back down, legs bent underneath him pushing her as far back as she can get, his head bouncing with her heaving breathes.

“We’re both not going to make it out of here.”

Stares up into her eyes, her hair hanging down into his face, white energy blasts going off behind her in slow-motion.

“I know.”

Thinks it will become a race of who can sacrifice themselves for the other first, but she slips her hand in his and starts to stand. They’re each other’s only everything. She can’t go on without him just like he can’t without her. They’ve lived on top of each other in a jail cell sized closet for four months and even if he made it out of here alive, he wouldn’t continue living, even if that meant giving up what she sacrificed for him.

He kisses her one last time, hands holding her cheeks, pulling her to him—with him—into the line of fire.

*

Awakens in a bed, a stiff bed, not four sleeping bags concrete floor stiff, but a bed that’s not really meant to be a bed. Tosses his hand to the side as he tries to sit upright but finds a bit of restraint. His eyes open to bright lights and white and reflecting metal. There’s air conditioning going, and a steady beeping at his side and shit he’s in the medical bay.

“Before you even ask anything—”

“You’re fine, Vala’s fine—well, aside from getting drugged by the friendly Shamans on P3R-068.”

Jackson.

Two Jacksons sit at his bedside, both with a giant book in their laps, both not even bothering to look up at him.

“What?”

“That’ll teach you not to indulge in native cultural customs.” Daniel One flips the page and sets in an ‘archaeologists rock’ bookmark.

Daniel Two follows suit with the same bookmark and he knows she bought it for both of them. She’s probably the only one who addresses them separately most of the time, and who makes two copies of things for them. “We told you we should’ve gone instead.”  

“How about instead of gloating you tell me what the hell happened?” Manages to shimmy up in the bed and is surprised to find the pain in his thigh gone.

“You want to long version?”

“Or the short?”

“How about the short of the short.”

Daniel One stands with his book. “Basically, you drank spiked moonshine from a cultural ceremony you had no right in attending.”

Blinks and keeps his eyes shut remembering the large bonfire, the smell of freshly caught fish cooking on spits, and drinking something that tasted like fermented Kool-Aid. “Short.”

“You and Vala shared a hallucinogenic dream.”  Daniel Two reaches for the door, holding it for himself.

“A dream. That—that was all a dream?”

“Yep.” Daniel One disappears with a smirk.

“And since it was Vala’s dream, I cannot even imagine what you’ve been through.” A shudder crawls up Daniel Two’s back. “I’ll—uh—I’ll send in Dr. Lam.”

*

“We lived in a janitor’s closet for four months.”

“Don’t remind me.”

They’re sitting on his couch watching CNN updates because it’s what she picked. She usually hates Earth news and refuses to watch it whenever he puts it on, especially any news with a ticker tape that moves too fast for her to absorb all the information.

His hand strokes through her hair, her head in his lap as her eyes narrow at the yellow, streaming words at the bottom of the screen. Her fingers splay against where she knows the scar in his thigh rests, her breath hot through his sweats. “How is your poor thigh?”

“Only hurts a bit, but the pills Lam gave are working a lot better than hallucinogenic dream pills.” Grins down at her, fanning out her hair over his lap. “How’s your hip?”

She grins back up at him as his hand traces over the dips in her body to stop on her hip and knead a bit. “It’s absolutely fine. I wonder why I hurt it. I don’t even remember how it happened.”

“I’m starting to forget things about it too.” The layout of their homey closet, where they found food, what the pain pills looked like. “But it still feels like it all happened.”

“It did happen, darling.” Plays with his fingers in feather light touches and sharp drags of her fingernails. “It just didn’t happen in reality.”

When she turns back to look at the tv and the news anchor is still rambling all the highlights of that day, she scoffs and turns away again. He clicks off the tv and rubs the tight area between her shoulders, his knees bouncing until she sits up. “At least we learned one thing.”

“Never accept mysterious drinks from tribal elders, even if it looks like a lovely cup of fruit punch?”

“Well there’s that,” groans as he attempts to stand, and she tugs him by the hands until he’s on his feet.

“And?” Arches an eyebrow back at him as a she hits the switch on the wall and tugs the curtains closed.

“And that we can live together for four months without killing each other which gives us a lot of potential, I think.” Taps her on the ass when she scoots by him, but then follows her down the hallway and into the bedroom.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she bends to retrieve pajamas from the bottom drawer of his dresser. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t love to live with me.” Returns with a tank top and the pair of panties that got caught in the lint trap of his dryer last week. “To capture me in your web of domesticity.”

“Oh yeah, princess.” Drops his shirt to the ground and flicks on the light in the bathroom, reaching into the mirror cabinet to grab his toothbrush. When he closes the door, he watches the reflection of her changing behind him a few feet from the door. “That’s my end game.”

“You need a new game.” Bundles her hair and pulls it though her tank top. Straightens the straps and starts collecting the laundry he’s trailed everywhere.

He pulls off his sweats, kicking them at her and she squeals when they hit her in the face. But when he laughs, she rolls her eyes and tries to hide her grin.

This is his end game.

 


	14. Arrow

“Princess, you’re going to have to learn how to trust me.”

“I trust you—”

“To an extent.”

“Right, to a very generous extent.”

He doesn’t say anything because it wasn’t the answer he’s looking for. Doesn’t want her undying devotion or unquestioning loyalty, doesn’t mind it when they butt heads, sometimes she gets all fired up and flushed in the face and when he smacks his lips against hers she still doesn’t stop talking and then he laughs.

What he does want is for her to listen to him as her superior officer, which wasn’t really happening before they started having sex and a relationship. Didn’t want to lose her before, but now sometimes when his signing her out doesn’t get approval, or if they leave on a sour note, he lays in bed watching the Late Show and feels completely empty.

He yanks his pants back up and sits on her bed, watching her watch him with a little bit of a nervous grin. Came to her room to talk to her about wearing the safety equipment when she leaves for off-world this afternoon with Teal’c because the planetary folk are not all around friendly, but they have a great location in the outer rings. Instead when he started to get upset with her she started kissing him and laughing, and then somehow his pants ended up around his ankles and she was blowing him.

And it is hard to argue with her when she’s so good at what she does

“Do you think we use sex as a weapon?”

“No.” Her immediate answer isn’t exactly reassuring, and she barely looks away from the vanity where she touches up her lip gloss.

“You seem pretty confident in that answer.”

“Darling, I’ve used sex as a weapon as Qetesh.” Smacks her lips together with a pop and presses down on a tissue. “Diverting a potential argument with a quick slap and tickle isn’t exactly weaponry.”

Sidles up behind her, his arms snaking around her waist, fingers tickling at the hem of her black undershirt. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I always get hurt,” responds with a cackle and bunches the tissue aiming for the trash and missing. “Teal’c always gets hurt. You always get hurt. Daniel always—”

“Dies?”

“Pretty much spot on.” Turns in his arms, hands on either side of his face, fingers cool and steady. She beams at him. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Can’t help but grin back and crashes his lips to hers, undoing all her hard work for a perfect gloss. The bubble gum flavor mixes with his own flavor still lingering on her tongue and he wishes to hell and back she didn’t have to go out on this mission. They can spare a Daniel, they can always spare a Daniel.

She doesn’t complain about the second round of messed lips, instead in a very gentle tone while running her fingers through his hair she asks, “would it make you feel better if I agreed right now to wear that big clunky, heavy vest.”

“I still won’t be able to sleep tonight, but it’ll be a start.”

She leans up on her tiptoes and whispers into his ear, “What if I promised to make our reunion tomorrow night pop as much as our little excursion just now.”

Well that, that does the opposite of make him want to sleep. He half spins her, so he can grab a shining clip on her vanity and hands it to her. “You are in a very generous mood.”

“I can’t help it.” She slides the sliver barrette into the side of her hair, smoothing it over so the bar is hidden and only the diamonds remain, seemingly hidden in her hair. “You’re absolutely adorable when you worry.”

She pinches his cheek and he snatches her hand away, but when she tries to walk away again, he twirls her back in towards him, landing one final kiss completely demolishing the newest layer of gloss. He lets go of her hand and whacks her on the ass for good measure. “Go.”

“You’re still adorable.”

“Do not say that in front of anyone else. Ever.”

*

He goes home and puts on the Late Show and sits with a beer in his hand watching celebrities he doesn’t even know who are young enough to be his kids act badly. If she was here they’d be watching America’s Funniest Home Videos or funny animal compilations online. She loves animals in human clothing and will laugh until she cries. It makes him smile now, but the bed is cold and empty, and he’s depressed enough to drink beer while fully clothed and on top of the covers.

There’s a weak ache in his thigh and over the phantom pains still running through the scar and sliced into the muscle he senses her hand clamping earlier, fingernails digging in and silky hair against his skin.

Sometimes he wonders what the hell they’re even doing and then sometimes he wonders how it’s been two years, they’ve had a workplace romance for over two years. He’s been fucking an alien for two years and no one has said a single thing. Then he feels bad about calling it ‘fucking’ because it sounds dirty and although she’s very dirty, she isn’t like that.

He drains his beer, turning out the light and goes to sleep on top of the covers with his clothes on.

*

Her and Teal’c return at 2200 the next night. She’s tired and dirty but bouncing around Teal’c who wears an amused smirk. She’s still wearing the bulky vest, Teal’c too, and it takes until they approach him for him to fully see the damage. Maybe Lam is right, about the glasses.

“I take it that it didn’t go to great.”

“The citizens were not pleased to see not one, but two representatives from Stargate Command.” His vest is full of rips and tears, exposing whatever impenetrable material Dr. Lee used to construct them.

They don’t say much, they never really do, and it must be how their relationship remains under the IOA’s radar after two years. She skips off in the direction of the women’s locker room, and Teal’c marches in the opposite direction towards the men’s.

He waits until Walter gives up his seat in the control room for his bed, and then drifts towards the women’s locker room. It’s between shifts and it’s very likely that she’s the only one in there. All he has to do is knock and if there’s another officer present, he’ll apologize and say he needs to talk to Vala in his office when she’s done.

But the all the planning is for nothing because when he knocks, she immediately calls him in. 

“Cameron, unzip me please?” She’s sort of spinning in her own orbit trying to reach the hidden zipper that’s blocked by—

“Holy shit.” He holds her still and examines the wooden arrow hanging out of her side. “What the hell happened.”

“Citizens ambushed the campsite this morning, lucky they didn’t have arrows made out of a stronger material.”

“Remind me.” He wiggles the arrow trying to slide it backwards, then forwards out of the tear it’s made in the vest. “Why did I send you to that planet again?”

“For diplomacy, darling.”

“Definitely. Not. Worth it.” Finally, he loses patience and snaps the arrow in half allowing the outer portion to clatter to the ground. He tugs on the zipper and she lifts her arms while he slides the vest over her head.

“Who was on the Late Show last night.” She almost topples over, the vests only about ten extra pounds, he’s worn one before and taking it off was like losing a quarter of his weight.

His hands shoot out to steady her, holding her by the hips while she regains her balance. Her frame is a lot smaller than his, or Teal’c’s and she must feel like a feather now. “Some snotty kid.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“That’s who it always is.”

“Did you at least change out of your day clothes?”

They know each other so well. That is why they do this, that is why this relationship works because she knows his routines, patterns, and he knows her crazy obsessions and quirks. “Of course not.”

“Oh Cameron.” Her smile is made of mock pity and she pecks a kiss to his chin. “You’re still adorable.”

*

They’re at the house, sitting next to each other on the couch, her legs curled and on his lap while he massages the bottom of her feet from the extra weight of the lifesaving vest. Some guy on the tv just got hit in the junk with a baseball bat by his toddler, and she’s laughing so hard she’s honking.

“Vala, honey—” and he’s laughing too because she has the worse taste in media he’s ever goddamn seen, but she’s so beautiful when she laughs, and her eyes are wet with tears. “We need to take you to an opera or something.”

“Is—Is there a lot of—” She swings her arms with a mock bat “—at the opera.”

“None, but it’s a theater with classy—”

“Pass.”

The show ends, and they begin clearing away the two dishes they used for pizza, taking a short walk to the kitchen. His arm slings around her waist as she pads barefoot across the laminate floors leaving little ghost footprints as she goes. “Promise me, if we ever have a child, you will teach them baseball.”

“I’m not teaching them baseball, so they can hit me in the crotch.” Just ignores the implication of them having kids in the future. They haven’t talked about it at all in two years, mostly just because they’ve been enjoying each other enough and practicing safe sex like it’s a religion.

Just going to ignore it.

“Oh, it would be so adorable, you and little you, just—whap” She slaps her hands together in glee, in a scary notion of glee, and then drops their plates into the sink.

His mind is still stuck on the speedbump of having a kid, because to be honest he never thought about it, and really didn’t want them, didn’t until a stupid video of parental abuse sparked her funny bone.

She’s still giggling, and moves to plug up the sink to do the dishes, her hand in the basin and her other hand on the switch on the wall because she thinks it’s the above sink light but it’s actually—

“Garburator,” shouts while dropping the empties against the kitchen floor sprinting towards her while they break into bits of glass. She’s not stopping. “Garburator. Garburator.”

Yanks her away from the sink just as she flips the switch and the angry metal whirring from where her hand just sat screams. He flips the switch off as she stares, then shrugs her shoulders. “I always forget, don’t I?”

“I’ll label it.” He holds her hips again and boosts her onto the counter. When she gives him furrowed brows, he clomps across the kitchen floor, retrieving the broom from where it’s hidden behind the fridge. “Glass on the ground.”

And it’s their routines and quirks. Her head so preoccupied with giggles and humor, so happy to be off base and with him, that nine times out of ten she flips on the switch and almost loses a finger in the process. His instant drop of anything to ensure her hands keep all five fingers intact, and while she’s still giggly with a fraction of attention, that she doesn’t step barefoot through all the glass he made in the earlier panic.

Her kissing him in appreciation, lovingly pressing her lips along his neck, chin, cheek and ear while nuzzling her floral smelling hair and soft skin against him. Bumping forward until he catches her off the counter and whisks her away to the bedroom, her legs hooking around his hips.

And his thought still on teaching a little version of them, a tough, smart little guy, one who breaks glass but sweeps it up, how to play t-ball and her watching eagerly from the kitchen window, her hand dangerously close to the worn label on the switch.

 


	15. Sand

They take a vacation. Well, sort of. SG-7 are still campaigning all over P3X-404 or was it P3J-505 it’s so hard to keep all the Ps and Xs and Js straight. He used to have a better memory, used to be able to recall a mission by the log number, now it takes him three times before he dials the correct number to the perky office assistant, who’s usually out running errands for O’Neill who keeps getting cravings for Dilly Bars.

It’s summer on the planet, well on half, which is important because it’s winter on Earth, well, half of Earth. So, the boys of SG-7, including the usually grumpy Major Dumas, are all grins. There’s a summer festival tonight, she said it was honoring fertility Gods and the twin moons that circle the planet, but all he knows is that they get two down days on a tropical resort planet.

The team splits up, Rodriguez going to a club to pick up girls, Dumas takes the rest of his guys and heads for the bar, a healthy choice. And she—she parks herself on the beach all pigtails and bikini strings and topped off with a floppy sunhat. Lays on her stomach on an SGC issued bath towel, sand sticking to the bottom of her feet and between her toes.

“I got you a drink.” Holds two red cocktail mixes in his hand and doesn’t know what’s in them or how they’re made, but Dumas and his guys aren’t three sheets into the wind yet and have been drinking since dawn.

She grins and slides her oversized sunglasses down on her nose. “Did you tell the bartender the drink was for me?”

It’s a weird question, but she likes to ask him weird questions so often that it barely phases him, and he’s learned to always answer since the garburator incident. “Yeah?”

“Then I can’t drink it.” Her back rolls out as she sits up, knees digging into the sand and palms resting on her bare thighs.

The red floral pattern on her bikini top distracts him for a second, her skin glistening but he doesn’t think she’s been in the water yet. “Huh?”

Chuckles because she knows exactly what happened. “I can’t drink your generous gift.”

“You think it’s roofied?”  He didn’t think ahead to bring a towel, so he flops down in the sand next to her, trying to balance two oversized, possibly drugged drinks.

“Why would they feed me Roo feed?”

“No roofied—it means drugged.”

“Oh, not just me.” She stretches an arm out to gesture to the beach and the other snaps to her head to keep her hat in place. His expression must give away how he doesn’t understand a thing she’s saying and with another chuckle, she reminds, “fertility festival, darling. Food and drink are littered with procreant stimulants.”

“Why are you telling me this now, I’ve eaten like six hot dogs.”

“Those are not hot dogs, they’re the genitalia of—”

“Stop. Stop.” Scoops some sand from between them and sets the drinks down into the dips. “So, you’re telling me, we’re like super charged right now.”

“You don’t have that much to worry about.” Reclines lazily, her arms and legs stretching out, glowing in the sun.

Arches an eyebrow at her legs sort of bent and he traces the curve with his eyes. She tosses her floppy pancake hat at him and it knocks him in the side of the face, pushing out his reply. “Why’s that?”

“This festival celebrates women’s fertility. Everything is laced towards making their bodies more efficient at accepting fetuses.”

“Oh.” He grabs one of the drinks and starts sipping on the straw, it’s tart and sour and makes his tongue feel rough. Then stares at the ocean that’s the color of Windex and is feeling the sand clump between his own toes when a thought hits him. “Wait does that mean we can’t—”

“Can’t what?” Slides down her glasses again, resting up on her elbows. Her stomach crunches a bit, and her bikini bottom slides a bit to her hip.

“Can’t—ugh—can’t—” Leans his hand into her towel and sinks into the sand a bit. “You know—”

“Not for a while.” Might call her a liar if she didn’t have that disappointed half-grin she wears whenever one of the Daniels tries to explain something to her.

His voice comes out a little curt because he’s having a hard time not touching her now on a crowded beach with their unit a few yards away. “How long?”

Plays with the arm of her glasses and reclines again, shin resting across the opposite knee and arms sprawled above her head. “That part is a bit unclear. Women from other planets have different physiologies and metabolisms, it could take weeks or I could work through it all tonight.”

“We could work through something tonight.”

“We should definitely not be doing anything tonight.”

“Why not? I brought protection.”

“Well not only do the two moons, when they line in unison, burst fertility accompanied with the laced food and drink, but prophylactics are prohibited during the ceremony.”

“What?”

“The use of condoms is illegal.”

“Yeah I got that.” Sets down the empty cocktail glass and eyes her trying to gauge if she’s talking pure bullshit to play him, or if this is true. She’s been on the planet a hell of a lot longer than him, and he can never keep planetary etiquette rules straight. “Why?”

“It’s basically a big—” She raises her index finger with a grimace “—to the Gods.”

“Middle finger, honey.” Clasps her hand and lowers all but that finger. She grins, then rolls back onto her stomach, the bikini bottoms stick to her. “So no—” he raises his eyebrows at her “—tonight.”

“None for the next while I’d imagine.”

“That’s fine. That’s good.” Leans back on his palms in the sand and the hotness creeps over his skin, but it might be the drink finally hitting him. “It’s fine.”

“Problem, Colonel Mitchell?” Her tongue taps her lips as she eggs him on.

“Not at all.” Turns his head towards the sky where the one sun begins to set. In an hour or two it’ll fall over the horizon and then two moons like white spots on a domino will spring up. There’s a brief dinner and dance, and then everyone retires within an hour. “We can definitely share a bed and not have sex.”

*

They have sex.

It’s entirely her fault.

Well, no, he didn’t exactly stop it, and he didn’t exactly not encourage it, and flame it until it sort of burst.

After the sun went down and the two moons hung over the beach low and snoopy, they went to the bonfire, at this point losing every other member of SG-7. They ate the food, the ribs of something like a pig, and while he drank other strangely fruity drink, she stuck to the water. They danced—sort of waltzed while all the citizens hooped and hollered in fire jumps and breakdanced around them. He felt joined to her then, her hand in his completing a chain and she got that half-lidded expression, her tongue poking out again for a different reason.

He almost broke her room door off the hinges when it wouldn’t open. Tore the sundress she wore on top of her bikini off and fell on top of her on the bed. She yanked his head down to her face, fingers gripped in like talons as he plucked at her bikini strings like he was playing the guitar. He tried to go down on her, but she wrenched him back up, and he didn’t understand until she started stroking him and it didn’t feel as good as it usually did.

“Stop.”

“Just?”

“Yeah—I mean if you’re good to go then—”

“Never ask me that, Cameron.” Crashed her mouth over his again and he crawled with her to the head of the bed. Every touch, every stroke felt like a phantom touch. She angled her leg against his hip and he held onto the last shred of his command. “Wait. Wait.”

She groaned, her back arched into him which didn’t help, as she threw an arm dramatically over her face. “Cameron.”

“Condom. We need one.” Scrambled off her, his fingers sifted over the cargo shorts he tossed and found one in the back pocket because he’s a genius like that.

“You will be detained.”

He stuck the wrapper between his teeth and tore. “How are they going to find out.”

“Well you’re going to have to dispose of it.”

“Vala, they are not going to be looking through our trash for used condoms.”

*

They didn’t go trash digging but the authorities knew. Almost immediately too which is creepy. Woke up with her thrown over him exhausted, her head angled under his chin and her chest pressed flat to his. Checked the clock like it mattered and gave her a kiss on the shoulder. “Princess, I gotta get back to—”

A knock at the door interrupted him and startled her awake. He placed a hand on her shoulder before she spoke, and she slowly rolled off him. The door of course was planetary agents aware of his giant fuck you to the fertility Gods, and they arrested him wearing only cargo shorts and a grin.

*

She’s the one who gets him out of prison. The rest of the team are MIA, and she arrives less than an hour after his booking with a large bag of currency to pay his bail. Initially, they want him to rot for half a year, but apparently this day is dedicated to the women who conceived life last night and to deny them anything is basically another big fuck you to the Gods.

She gets her way, he never doubted she wouldn’t, and walks out with him and the bag of currency still fully intact.

*

At his house that night, despite having a shower early that day on P3J-404 and one at SGC when they returned, she still has sand crested to the bottom of her feet, and in between her toes. He tickles her, fingers tracing the sensitive skin until she bucks a heel into his side. It’s still woman’s appreciation day, and he’s a little wary that the guards might chase him down for not treating her like a queen.

“Was it worth it, Cameron?” She taps her foot at his chest and grabs his shirt between her toes, yanking playfully.

“If I was given the choice, I would do it the same every time, darlin.”


	16. Positivity (Electric Charge)

The bullshit with the Cyclone Planet is still ongoing. He’d back-burnered it while paying more attention to planets like P3J-505 who might actually form an alliance with them, even though SG-9 has been stationed there for over a year and a half straight. As soon as they finish sorting through the wreckage of the last twister, a new one rips through, or there’s a lightening storm, or a blizzard.

He’s tried talking to their president, but each phone call ends with him talking to a different person who assures, that they are in charge and that they don’t require the Tau’ri aid on their shamble planet. Then when he tells SG-9 they can finally come back to Earth and see their families again, the ‘real’ boss contacts him by the end of the day pleading for the help to continue.

But SG-9 does need to come home and he swaps them out for SG-7 who he pulled off of P3J-505. Dumas is not happy because the Cyclone Planet doesn’t have a lot of bars, or strip joints, and prostitution is outlawed, but in the words of Major Dumbass, ‘how are you gonna outlaw the oldest profession?”

“Colonel Mitchell?” Gloria pokes her head into the room, she never manages to drag herself fully through the door, always just angles her head sideways.

“Yeah?”

She snaps her gum, then chews loudly. “Got a hot one down in the gate room.”

“And what does that mean exactly?”

“I dunno?” Shrugs, snaps her gum again and slams the door.

“Great.”

*

“Are they back yet?”

“Jeez.” Jumps and spins around almost knocking into the Jacksons standing behind him like The Grady Girls. “Do I need to get you guys some bells?”

“You seem on edge.” Daniel One brushes by him, stopping just a few inches ahead to stare at the stargate.

Daniel Two flanks him on the other side. Misses when there was just one. One he could handle and redirect, but two of them, they overpower him mentally because he’s exhausted almost all the time. “Something bothering you?”

“Aside from the cloned archeologist that I’m still in full command of?”

“What’s that—”

“—supposed to mean?”

“It means why the hell haven’t one of you hightailed it to Atlantis. Sam’s there. Sam loves your company.” Means that Sam can put up with him, with one single Jackson. Actually, aside from Vala, no one at the SGC has fully embraced the clones. It’s not even weird for her, she just treats them both as if they were the single Daniel from before.

“We don’t have permission to leave the SGC.” Daniel Two pulls his lips tight, stretching back on the balls of his feet.

Daniel One removes his glasses, his fingernail tracing what must be a scratch in the middle of one of the lenses. “We have stay here until we’re cleared by medical.”

“So, get your asses down to medical.”

“Not that simple, Mitchell.”

“Dr. Lam’s still trying to discern which one of us is the fake,”

“Even though it’s fairly obvious—”

“—that doesn’t sound like not throwing around insinuations to me.”

“What?”

“Yeah that sentence had—”

“—a double negative they’re so hard to—”

He hides his face, half on the verge of crying out in irritation, half ready to just laugh because this feels like a rehearsed Abbott and Castello sketch. “Just go to medical.”

“Why?’

“We need Landry’s permission before—”

“Because then you won’t be here!”

They both looked equally shocked and offended, mouths opened wide and inhaling deep for what’s probably a heavily worded reply, but they’re cut off by a higher power sending SG-7 back through the gate.

Dumas and his two boys walk through first, harrowed faces, but nudging each other with elbows in ribs. He nods at the major who waits until the last minute to nod back, and they’re out of the room before Teal’c and Vala makes it through. They’re smudgy but happy, she has her hands gripping the tight straps on her bag and Teal’c speaks to her softly with a slow growing smile, and whatever he tells her lights up her face.

“My darlings,” she greets with her arms outstretched, the pack is bottom heavy and knocks against her ass making her take a double step. “Did you all congregate here to welcome me home?”

Shuffling awkwardly on his feet Daniel One clears his throat. “We actually need your help reorganizing the tagged artifact binder.”

“So, whenever you’re ready to come down and do that—” Daniel Two leaves the sentence hanging as they turn in unison for the exit.

“Give her some time to get settled.” Shakes his head at het archeologists still walking to the door, hands in their pockets like the weirdest gang he’s ever seen. “She’s been gone a week and a half.”

“Oh, we know.” Daniel One doesn’t bother to turn around.

Daniel Two however peeks over his shoulder. “But she’s the one who dropped the binder and messed up all the tags.”

*

They do the debriefing which is mostly just Vala and Teal’c complaining about how badly they were treated on the planet, especially after being sent by the Tau’ri and not being Tau’ri, apparently it was a big flip off to the people in charge—who, he still doesn’t know. She leaves to shower and heads straight to the Jacksons’ lab afterwards. The most he gets is a secret grin and a foot nudge from him to her under the table, their own version of an elbow to the ribs, because it’s been a week and a half and he missed her like hell.

Knows the Jacksons will probably preoccupy her time late into the night and sometimes he doesn’t know how she deals with them, especially two of them, but she just smiles and laughs and hooks her arms, one through each of theirs, chatting with them about the planet and the things she witnessed while they only half listen.

He busies himself with typing up progress reports for particular planets and missions, then by organizing his to-do list tomorrow until he realizes it’s their rest day and he doesn’t technically have to do anything, but he’ll be on base so he can at least check-in with Lam on immunizing the teams with less vaccinations at once because he’s starting to get complaints about all the needles. He could also read through the mission reports from the last week before he submits them to O’Neill. Communications is also going to need to a debriefing on—

The lights buzz and blink off for a moment before humming back on. It’s weird, but not the weirdest thing he’s seen in the last twenty-four hours, hell he’s still getting use to looking at two Jacksons. His watch says that it’s near dinnertime, so maybe he’ll pop by the lab and drop some subtle hints to her about ordering in. Maybe he’ll drop some hints to the Jacksons about going to Atlantis.

Locks up his office behind him and in the hallway the lights flicker and buzz again. It’s a little bit weirder, but he’ll take flickering lights over blindness parasites and anger fruit any day of the week. Strolls down the hallway, yanking open the door to the stairwell and bouncing down the steps, never understood why the archelogy area is on the same floor as medical, but not the actual gate, must make carrying less than stable artifacts dangerous.

He’s surprised the lab door opens right away because the Jacksons have taken to locking themselves in when they’re hard at work. The door is soundproof and as soon as he breaks that barrier, all three of them arguing breaks the silence.

“I didn’t mean to touch it,” she sounds defensive, speaking very quickly and a little jittery.

“But you did, Vala.”

“So it’s the least you can do.”

Shuts the door behind him and finds her sort of inching towards the corner away from the Jacksons who are approaching her with what he thinks is the artifact she probably wrecked, but then he notices a smoking piece of pottery with wires and metal bits sticking out. He chuckles because she wrecked it really well.

“Well I’m sorry, please don’t—Cameron.” She darts around the Jacksons and shuffles up beside him.

“What’s going on? The lights are flashing and you guys are—”

“Vala blew up the Ornate Eye, a priceless piece of Ancient technology.” Resting at the end of the first metal table, Daniel One crosses his arms, trying to glare at her hiding behind him.

“Yeah I got that from the sparks and smoke.” Points to the leftovers of what must be the Ornate Eye as Daniel Two sits like a guard at the other table end. “What did it do?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“It’s more of a galactic Rosetta Stone.”

“Oh.” Leans forward to get a better look, but the symbols chiseled into the clay and metal are too small for him to even consider reading. She ghosts his movements and he tries to hid his smile. “So, if it didn’t do anything, why are you mad at her?”

“We’re not.”

“Oh.”

“We want her to touch this.” Daniel Two holds up an artifact that looks like a gold spray-painted basketball with a few embedded gems.

“Okay, you lost me.”

Daniel One rolls his eyes, snatching the basketball and traveling forward. “She’s charged.”

“You’re charged?” Turns around tapping her side discretely when she tries to flit away. “Charged with what?”

“Positivity apparently.”

“No Vala.” Number Two groans crossing his arms and throwing back his head. “You’re positively charged.”

Whips back to the Daniels. “She has—has a current?”

“Yep.”

Flips back to her, his hand hovering over her skin, it makes the hair on his arms stand on end. “How did this happen?”

She shrugs and pulls a tight mouth. “The weather on that planet was atrocious. It wasn’t sunny for a single day, two cyclones and at least fifteen lightening storms—”

“Did you get struck by lightning?”

“She’s not dead, Mitchell.”

“Hey don’t laugh.” The Jacksons share the same smirk and are encroaching further towards them with the basketball. “I had an uncle who was struck by lightning when I was a kid. He couldn’t do his multiplication tables after it.”

“While that’s a great insight into your family—”

“—she was probably just exposed to the elements for too long.”

“Teal’c been there for months straight. Hell, SG-9 have been there almost two years.”

“All men, darling.” Tucks back behind him and his shirt grows clingy with static. “Also almost all Tau’ri.”

“Then what’s the problem with touching the artifacts.”

“This.” Daniel One bops the basketball against the bare skin on her arm, and the touch springs the dormant machine to life, gems glowing and the top spins separately from the bottom. It also makes her scream with a bite of pain.

“Hey.”  

“Mitchell, she’s the only thing powerful enough to jolt these things back to life.”

“She said it only feels like a shock—”

“A bad electrical shock,” she adds with a pout, her hand rubbing the darker area where the artifact touched her arm.

“Nope. This here—” gestures between the three of them and the artifact “—this is done. You two enjoy that toy because you’re not getting another one.” Then he turns to her, guiding her to the door gently. “You go to medical.”

*

She doesn’t get far in medical, barely changed into the familiar navy-blue scrubs before her charge starts to wreak havoc on the systems. When she sits at the MRI machine it hisses and clatters, electricity surging through it as it starts to smoke. She yipes, jumping away from the machine and pats at the black singed holes burnt into the back of her pants.

“Whoa, that’s one hell of a barbeque,” coughs as he enters the room, Lam zooming by him fanning away the smoke with her clipboard. “Vala?”

“I’m fine.” She plays with the tatters of the scrubs and her skin is already starting to blister underneath.

“Well, normally I’d just book you in for a CT scan.” Lam tucks the clipboard back up underneath her arm. “But given the circumstances—” when the doctor drops her hand to Vala’s shoulder, the another shock jolts through her, and both women jump away from each other with a shout.

Doesn’t know why, but he stands between them with his arms held out, keeping them apart like he’s mediating a dispute. They’re both panting a bit and the smoke still hasn’t died down. “Everyone okay?”

“Yeah,” Lam answers but sounds unsure and flicks her hand through the air, shaking out the pain. “Is that what happens every time?”

“Yes. Sorry” Doesn’t say anything else as she leaves the room to change, but moves slow and purposefully, careful of what she touches.

*

“Vala,” calls to her in the crowded hallway between shift change and dinner. She doesn’t stop walking, pretending like she can’t hear him, zipping in between people, ghosting by them.

He has to jog to catch up to her, which in between the amount of people and the dull ache in his thigh is no easy feat. Finally, he stretches out an arm, his hand grabbing her shoulder firmly spinning her. “Vala.”

“Don’t—” Smacks his hand away and raises her palms defensively. “Don’t touch me.”

But he’s got her wrist, and then holds her hands, sidestepping with her into an empty conference room. She tries to yank her hands away, but he holds tight. “Look.” He raises their clumped hands, showing his arm hair standing on end. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Yet.”

*

“Cameron,” she sighs and it’s not the usual tone she sighs his name in. One of despair and exhaustion—the bad kind of exhaustion. “What are you doing?”

“What we always do.” Shucks his boxers and crawls between the sheets, wiggles an arm underneath her feeling the slight static touch of her skin and then nuzzles the back of her head while his fingers travel the blisters from today.

“You’re going to get hurt,” murmurs against his arm, but stretches back against him.

“I don’t mind taking one of the team.”

“I’m going to get hurt.” But her hips swivel when his hand rests there, fingers lapping over her skin.

“This sounds like the speech we both gave each other when we started this.”

“And?”

“And it was worth it.”

*

Wakes up a little before 0300 because he smells bacon. Blinks into the room a bit to clear his vision and by the fluffy blanket on the reading chair in the corner, he knows he’s in hers. She’s sound asleep, pressed back against his front, and he presses a kiss into her cheek, getting a little static shock, before beginning to untangle himself and return to his own, cold, empty bed.

Only he doesn’t move fast enough, because that little static shock was just a baby compared to the one that forces him from her, sending him over the edge of the bed. He hits the ground hard but compared to the pain in his hands and—other—parts of his body that were still touching her it’s nothing.

She squeaks awake, turning at the phantom force between them that shocked them both so wildly, rubbing the small of her back and the curve of her ass. “Cameron, did—”

Smoke starts to billow up from the sheets and then a little ember of a flame. He darts forward grabbing his pillow and smashes it into the mattress so fiercely that she scurries to the edge of the bed, blankets drawn to her neck and eyes wide. “Sorry, I think—uh—I think we started a fire, which is pretty cool if—”

“You should go.”

“Princess, it’s not the worst—”

“We literally just set the sheets on fire by touching.”

“Again, pretty cool—”

“Please, just—” Her head swings into her palm, hiding away her expression, but he can hear the fear in her voice. “Please, just go.”

*

It happens in the cafeteria a little after what would be considered a normal lunch time. He stopped in to grab a coffee, a coffee he knows he’s supposed to stay away from because of stomach ulcers or some other crap Lam told him was wrong with him. He’s filling a Styrofoam cup, which the environmental committee has been trying to get rid of, and spying on her from behind the coffee canister.

She’s sulking through the tables with her tray towards the door, stopping just shy of the open archways. The tray drops from her hand and clatters to the ground, a bright red apple rolling away.

And she screams.

He’s heard her scream all sorts of ways before, in surprise when he sneaks up behind her, in delight when he fakes eating the last cupcake but secretly hid it for her for later, in anger when he doesn’t pick up his boxers off the ground because he’s tired and that’s what the housekeeper is for, in passion and he has to apologize to the neighbors the next morning without making eye contact while she skips happily beside him, but never like this.

Knows her past is rough, knows she’s been tortured, but he’s never been there, never been present for it and he hasn’t been thankful for that until this moment because she grabs the side of her body and falls to her knees and the scream is so raw, so unaltered that his coffee clatters to the ground.

“Get medical,” demands of two privates who nod and burst out of the room. She’s one her side, almost fetal, knees pulled to her chest and hands buried against her torso. “Vala, what’s—”

“Shoot me.”

“What?”

“Just shoot m—” Her hand clamps onto his arm sending a jolt through both their bodies.

He shoots back against one of the tables, slamming his back and his knees into the ledges and she slides across the floor sizzling and unconscious.

Lam appears in the doorway, dressed in her usual cotangent off-world gear, a big plastic pillow suit complete with a window to showcase her face. He’s stunned a bit, rubbing the back of his neck and hobbling towards Vala on the floor before Lam can touch her. “You can’t she’ll—”

But the touch doesn’t start an electrical fire or result in any unwanted blisters in sensitive areas, instead Lam checks for responsiveness, tries to find a pulse through thick gloves and then fumbles through her bag for something.

“How—”

“The suit is grounded.” Her breath fogs up the glass when she speaks and she gives him a look, to tell him not to waste her time with questions.

*

They put her in a containment room, this weird room he’s never seen before that the Jacksons, with Sam conferencing in from Atlantis, rig up to give off the same electrical charge as her, so she doesn’t fry herself from the inside out anymore.

When he finally makes it down, when he thinks he’s given it enough time so his concern isn’t too conspicuous, the Jacksons sit at a panel reading out a wave of science and numbers he doesn’t even begin to understand. “What are we looking at?”

“Well, she’s not doing any damage to her internal organs anymore.” Daniel One’s glasses slide down on his nose as he frantically types at one of the computers.

Daniel Two jots down numbers, his eyes on the monitor not the notebook he writes in, but they all come out perfectly straight and aligned. “Her amps are increasing.”

“What does that mean?” There’s a few steps down to the containment room, but all he can see is a white floor.

“It means that she’s getting a stronger electrical charge.”

Daniel One spins from the computer before him to the one beside him. Fingers never missing a beat. “Which means that we have to increase the charge in the room to counteract it.”

“I’m guessing that’s bad.”

Both Jacksons stop their respective actions and glance to him, flat expressions on their faces. They turn to each other having a staring contest over which one is going to give him the bad news, sort of a rock, paper, scissors for the intellectual. Finally, Two clears his throat and ducks his head into his notebook. “The containment room will only go so high, Mitchell.”

Keeps his eyes straight, his back ridged, focusing on the white floor of her room. “How long?”

“If it keeps increasing at this rate?”

“A day. Maybe a day and a half.”

“But at these levels she’s more likely to shock her heart into an arrythmia.”

“She know?”

“She’s not stupid.”

His hands start to sweat, and he wiggles his fingers ignoring how he doesn’t get a little trickle of static any longer. “Plans?”

“Mitchell, this is unheard of—”

“Sam doesn’t even know what—”

“Plans.” Almost shouts it this time, his body still rigid in the middle of the room. The clacking and scribbling stop and he swallows the lump in his throat. “You’re both planners, you have to have something.”

There’s silence in the room, complete silence between the three of them and he doesn’t think this type of silence could exist anywhere else.

“Maybe—Maybe we could go back to the PXF-294—”

“Where?”

“The Cyclone Planet,” Daniel Two clarifies.

“Maybe they’ve experienced this before.” One’s voice begins to pick up as he understands the suggestion.

Two perks up as well. “They might have a remedy.”

“Go.” Gives them a nod and takes a step forward as they bolt up from their chairs. Before they reach the door he adds, “if it comes to it, threaten to remove our disaster aid.”

Expects them to argue about how cutting interplanetary aid to a planet, a planet full of assholes but a planet in need, is malicious, but again, they say nothing. Just nod sternly in agreement and disappear out of the door.

He takes the steps slowly, not because of his thigh this time, because he can see faded red sneakers he bought her when she wanted to start going jogging with him in the morning and by the third day threatened him if he woke her up.

Her legs hang off the plastic cot with a plastic looking mattress and blanket, fingers digging into the material leaving little grooves. The soles of her shoes scratch at the floor and her eyes trace around the ceiling like she’s watching something move.

“Hi honey.” Tries to keep the same tone, the same level so she doesn’t know how royally screwed they are, so she isn’t a little more than twenty-four hours away from cooking from the inside out.

“Cameron.” Grins and pushes herself off the side of the bed, stalking towards him like some jungle cat in a too small zoo exhibit. “Finally made it down did you?”

“Gotta fly under the radar.”

“Any blips?” She opens and closes her hand.

“What?”

“Blips. Blips.” Continues opening and closing her hand. “Radar blips.”

“None yet but O’Neill and Landry aren’t stupid, it’ll get back to them. Hopefully we can just pass it off as—”

“Cameron?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

Oh shit.

“It’s okay to be scared.” Placates her like a child, when he can’t even look her in the eyes because he’s going to lose it and then through his angry wails, they’ll be on everyone’s radar. With a shuddering inhale he tries to change the subject. “Some digs you got here.”

Turns her head away from him, her eyes blinking over the small area with hardly anything occupying it but her. “The Daniels were nice enough to inform me it used to be implemented as a tool in torture.”

“That’s homey.”

“The walls are charged and when a prisoner did something naughty they would—”

“We’re going to get you out of this.” Flattens his hand against the wall and hisses when he presses down too hard on the blister.

“Oh, that’s quite a big one.” With a finger she traces the outline of his burn onto her side of the glass.

“Yeah, you should see the one in my pants.”

“Promises, promises.”

They grin at each other because the banter is the banter and normally they edge away from it, have real conversations about cable tv, the garburator, his inadequacies, her trust issues, but sometimes the banter is just natural and they have to let it play out because this is how it began. His grin falters when he realizes what he stands to lose, and then the question spikes of if the job is worth it. Is it worth for both of them to keep at the daily grind with his body slowly falling apart and her taking dangerous missions coming back blind or barefoot, full of arrows and bullet holes?

Then he finds that he just wants to be with her. At work, out of work. In the grocery store where she wants to ride the cart like a scooter and he always chuckles and tells her no because they’re adults, militaristic adults hiding a two-year relationship, and ends up pushing her on it anyway.

He’s starting to get tired of all the damn rules.

“You’re going to make it out of this.” She just smiles at him, but it’s worn and meant to placate him, but that’s not why he’s here. “Hey. Tell me you believe me.”

“Cameron—”

“I promise, you’re coming out of this.”

He doesn’t know why he needs to hear it, maybe the boost in confidence will give him the kick in the ass he needs, but maybe it’s knowing she’s fighting with him, beside him even though she’s no where near him and the amps are going up.

“I believe you.”

As the words exit her mouth, and float into the positively charged and negated air, he catches her eyes, the fear, the fleeing, the trembling of her irises, but the hope she has when she looks at him and he realizes that he might have just lied to her face.

*

“Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell.” Woolsey greets him from the other end of the hallway. The opposite end of the hallway that he was traveling from. He just popped out of the containment room after having another brief conversation with her, trying to calm her down a bit, watching as the amps rose and the program corrected itself. Told her the good news, that the Jacksons got an ancient device from the Cyclone planet that takes the charge out of people for this exact situation. Apparently, it happens all the time on the planet and working replicas of the device are available at corner stores like chocolate bars. If the planet didn’t think the Tau’ri were dumb before, he’s glad he could give them the last bit of help they needed in making a decision.

“What a surprise to see you.” Woolsey sneaks up in front of him, because he doesn’t have time for this conversation. He put his whole day on hold to find a solution for Vala, and now he’s going to go stand in the gate room until one or two or twelve Jacksons come back with one or two or twelve of the current sucking devices.

“Not really, you’re on my turf.”

“Yes, and as I’m on your turf—” Woolsey stops, standing directly in the middle of the hallway, holding up traffic on both sides as people swerve around him. He juts a finger back towards the containment room. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I had a conversation with Ms. Mal Doran.”

That gets him to stop, and grind his teeth, and set his jaw before he turns around because suddenly he’s on very thin and melting ice. “Actually—” he takes a step back towards the room, to Woolsey standing like the big bad wolf before the door. “I don’t think she’s up for receiving many visitors right now. You know, the whole cooking her organs thing.”

“But, you just came from in there, correct?” It’s not the persistence, or wanting to talk to Vala about whatever, it’s the smug grin, like he’s been trapped.

“Yeah, I was updating her on the Jacksons’ progress in getting a solution. She’s really weak, but I thought I’d deliver her that good news.” Crosses his arms over his chest and steps to the side so privates rolling equipment down the hallway don’t need to swerve around him. “Nothing against protocol.”

“No, not that, but in a close IOA examination of illegal aliens at Stargate Command—”

“She’s been here five years—”

“She is still not a citizen of this planet.”

“But she’s given her life for it more than once.”

“That is not how citizenship is earned, Colonel Mitchell, you know that.” The smirk briefly reappears, a tight line pulling just the one corner of his lips. “What concerns me is how many times in the last month you’ve signed her out under your responsibility.”

“Instead of keeping her locked up here?”

“She has a suspect past, and we’re still unsure of where her loyalties lay.”

“Bullshit.” Sure the SGC hasn’t been under the best management lately, with Landry camping out in Washington trying to get more funding or finding another way around whatever Woolsey and the IOA have planned and O’Neill stopping in about one a month to just mess things up enough before leaving it takes him an entire month to get things back in order. There’s cogs that aren’t running as smoothly, but they’re getting by. No major wars declared, no massacres of any SG teams.

“I know what you’re up to Colonel Mitchell. However, if you were to let me have a brief conversation with her—”

“Unfortunately, only a General can give you clearance through that door.”

“I would rethink your stance on this before you make a big mistake.”

“The rules are the rules, Woolsey.” Marches back down the hallway expecting the Jacksons to already be through the gate. “You’ll have to wait for O’Neill to get back here next week.”

*

“Do you want popcorn tonight?”

It’s a little past midnight and the grocery store is almost abandoned except for a few people who zip by them in the aisles intent on buying one thing and getting out. They’re grocery shopping because neither of them were supposed to be going back home this weekend, but after—just after the last forty-eight hours, he gave her and the Jacksons the weekend off.

“I think I’d like to stay as far away from microwaves as possible,” she jokes, but it’s forced, and he knows she got real spooked today. He grabs her hand and it’s a bit cold, and none of the hairs on his hand stick up.

She drifts in towards him and the cart when he tugs, and plants a kiss on her forehead. “You did really good today.”

“I almost died today.”

“Then how is it any different then any other day?” He hates that he’s right, because it is just a normal day at their jobs. She’s in trouble, he’s in trouble, the Jacksons and Teal’c and Sam and fifteen other teams are in trouble.

Her head tucks beneath his chin and the little nuzzle she gives him, the little sigh, it makes him stop just dead in the snack aisle. “Vala, are we just going to keep doing this forever?”

She doesn’t need more clarification than that, they’ve been together too long, and can read the subtleties and he doesn’t know what exactly he wants, but he knows he’s not going to be at the SGC forever, knows in ten years he’s not going to be leading any more missions than he is now, knows that he’ll be bogged down with grandpa glasses, a trick thigh, and some sort of vegan diet. But he also knows that she’s going to be there with him. Or with him if they’re not there. 

It’s weird, but he just knows.

Soft lips brush the underside of his jaw and she rubs away any gloss she leaves behind. “Not forever, darling, just for a while longer.”


	17. Dress

They’re trapped, well not so much trapped as imprisoned. To his left is a very thick stone wall. To his right sits the same wall. Behind him, the same wall, and before them very rusty, very thick metal bars. He paces, he hates being trapped. Hates being imprisoned since that one night he spent in the drunk tank and his momma came and got him in the morning, hitting him across the back of the head, literally slapping some sense into him.

While he glares after the not-so-friendly guard who slammed them into this cage, Vala sits on the ground, her knees knocking at an awkward angle. She rolls from her ass to her back.

He arches an eyebrow, deciding she’s better to watch. “The hell are you doing?”

“This isn’t my first imprisonment, darling.” She swoops her arms underneath her socked feet, the bulky army boots kicked off and stranded over the sandy floor and brings her cuffed hands from behind her to in front.

His eyes dart back to his cuffed hands and then back to her as she bounces up like she just finished a gymnastics routine. “Don’t think I can do that, princess.”

“Oh, don’t you worry your—” She yanks her hands apart harshly in a single moment, the movement knots in his stomach, but instead of broken wrists or amputated hands, the broken links dangle at her wrists and she wears them like an accessory “—pretty little head about it.”

Wears a proud grin, while she saunters towards him, foot before foot like she’s walking a catwalk, and her hand buries in her hair, digging out a silver, jewelled bobby pin. She touches his shoulder gently guiding him to turn around.

“Don’t do that again.” All he needs is her in two casts, one for each Daniel to sign. She’ll still try to sneak out on missions when she can’t even hold a fork and he’ll have to sign his name to a hundred more leaflets of paper and then keep signing her out to make sure she’s still eating.

Cold fingers curl around his wrists as she steadies his hand, dept fingers jittering until the clasp snaps free. The relief in his wrist is instant and he pivots to stand face-to-face with her. He holds the links of the first cuff up and she picks the second lock with ease.

Tugs on the braided links of one of her cuffs with his first free hand while she works over the skin on his wrist of the second.  “Okay, now you.”

“Not important right now.” She stops massaging, cool fingers stilling against his skin, and she nods to the rails. “We need to figure out how to get that unlocked.”

He plucks the barrette out of her fingers and shoves it clumsily into the tiny cuff keyhole. “No,” the argument spoken into his downturned chin, his bad eyes squinting in the dimly lit cell, “we need to figure out a plan first.”

“We have a plan.” Tries to pull her hand away but he keeps it stable, still swirling the clip around. “It’s breaking out of this cell.”

“Then what?”

“Then we run down the hallway, turn right, run down that hallway, turn left, third door on the right is the gate room.”

His fingers still, his eyes scrolling up to hers.

“What?”

“How do you know that?”

“I took mark of it when we dialled in.” He still stares, how did he forget to do that, how did this mission go so badly so quickly. “We knew it could go bad.”

“That’s an understatement.” The planet had requested assistance in fighting off Athena, one of the last remaining system lords. There were rebellions uprising and just needed a smart head or two to help organize to take her down. With the others off on their own little missions, Vala volunteered to go having led ‘more than one rebellion’ and, well, it would be reckless of him not to accompany her on a planet neither of them had been to before. 

As soon as they walked through the portal, the nice folks of P3S-222 took one look at her and screamed ‘Qetesh’ and he’s never seen a group of people draw their guns so quickly. “What happens if we stay here?”

“You’ll be fine, darling.” Cool fingers tap his cheek as she pulls a weak smile at him.

“Sorry, let me rephrase that. What will happen to you if we stay here?” Fingers drop from his cheek as she turns away from him, pacing back towards the large, almost cartoonish, keyhole in the chunky metal door. “What will they do to Qetesh?”

“What her survivors failed to do the first time.” A guy appears surrounded by two guards, both armed with zats. He’s not in the casual peasant-wear they usually see on planets under threat from a Goa’uld, more like a whatever this planet’s equivalent of a power suit is. “Destroy her.”

“Okay, you need to know that she’s not—” The guards train their guns on him and the words sort of drown in his throat. She also floats a bit closer to him. What would she even be able to do if they fired on him, but then again, they’re not in cuffs anymore because of her.

“I heard your people tortured you for days,” the fat bastard gloats and rewets his slimy lips. She doesn’t move an inch, not closer or further away, doesn’t even blink at him. “That’s a pathetic boast.”

Finally, her arm cross, and she blinks a few times, ensuring that he’s done his song and dance. “Are you going to tell us what you want, I mean other than torturing me to death, which darling, you’re going to have to get in line for.”

“All I want is to rid the galaxy of the famous whore God.”

“Hey—” She stops his movement with a single glare from the side of her eyes, arm fixed in position, never turning away from their gracious host.

“We came here to help rid you of Athena.”

“Yes, and lucky me, I get to kill two system lords.” A dress splats to the sand in front of her, eerily similar to the one she wore while masquerading as Qetesh on that small mining planet. More macramé than anything else, kind looks like a whole bunch of his momma’s knitted potholders stitched together. “Put that on.”

“I will not.”

“If you are not wearing it upon my return, I will draw and quarter your first prime.” That gets a huge glare from him, and a noticeable gulp from her. “You never could choose just one mate, perhaps this one is special—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve made your party dress demands.” She picks up the flimsy dress, dangling it over her arm. “Give a girl some privacy.”

“So modest,” he huffs turning to retreat down the hallway. “For a whore the galaxy has seen nude a million times over.”

*

He shields her while she shucks out of her clothing. Shrugs his jacket down from his shoulders so it hangs and holds his arms out straight like a bored kid waiting in a grocery store checkout line. She slides the dress up over her hips, and he helps her clasp the back together, the golden ring holding the whole thing together is heavy and cold against her neck.

“Do you remember wearing this as Qetesh?” Straightens a gold chain embedded with rubies at her back, gathering her hair out of the way.

She tugs at her hips where the material bunches, grunting and shifting her hips to get a better fit. “I do and I don’t. The memories aren’t exactly the clearest for many reasons.”

“Does it bug you?” Traces the chain to where it hangs off the halo of a necklace and when she glances back at him, her eyelashes almost brush his hand. “To wear it now?”

“Not really, it’s just a piece of clothing, much like how my body was just a body.” Tugs again but the wrinkle still sits and she huffs, “Qetesh obviously didn’t plan for a me to ever have children judging on how tightly this dress fits now.”

He kisses the back of her head, not letting her words sink in and his hands clap to her bare, cold shoulders. “What are they going to do?”

“Probably come back for me, say they’re going to take me before a judicial crowd.”

“But—”

“But, they’ll take me to the viceroy’s chambers instead.”

It always seems to come down to this. He doesn’t address it because they both know but he holds her back to his front, arm slung across her chest, above her breasts, shadowing her collarbone. He speaks into her hair, “escape plan?”

“Already in motion, darling.” There’s a clanging that echoes down the hallway, the one they need to be down. Right then left then third door? He doesn’t remember but lets her lead because unless it’s dancing or something that needs a little bit of that homegrown Earth domesticity, she’s always the better lead.

They break apart and he knows she’s freezing, but composed and her posture is perfect, her head up, broken cuffs still hanging from her wrists and she sends him the side-eye. “Do not show attachment to me.”

“What?” The statement alone makes him want to step closer to her, but her tone is what’s frightening. Like threatening to leave through the gate, threatening to live with a group of monks before they turned out to be abusers.

“I mean nothing to you,” answers point blank and then drops her eye contact before the viceroy, he guesses, and his two guards return.

“Yes, that’s more suitable for a whore god.” The viceroy’s smile is devious and  it’s unnerving, having to trust her abilities and knowing she can do this because she’s probably done it before.

She shrugs, her palms open and flat and a piece of hair tumbling before her face. “Still a God.”

The guards enter and retrieve her, though she isn’t really retrieved, she goes willingly, and he listens to her, pretends that it doesn’t boil his blood, that his hands in fists aren’t causing his fingernails to dig into his palm, that he can feel the weight of his entire body on the soles of his feet where he stands planted against the dusty, cracked floor.

She doesn’t say anything to him as she leaves, and to be honest he probably wouldn’t have heard it because the viceroy announces she’s going to face a judgement of those she harmed and he and her both know the true meaning behind the words now.

But her hand does sway a little out of beat as she passes through the opened cell door. His eyes drift to the lock and find the pin in the keyhole and when the door clanks closed it doesn’t lock.

He has no idea when she managed to do that, or how she picked that lock so quickly, but he’s so proud and he kind of wants to marry her.

*

When he reaches for the door to the viceroy’s chamber, a trail of shot down guards laying fallen in his wake, she opens the door from the other side intent on running out. Her hair is a bit messy, and there’s a splotch of blood on her cheek, but her dress is intact and she grins at him.

“Get lost?”

“A little, yeah.” He wipes the blood off her cheek and it smudges away. It’s not hers.

She walks through the door not bothering to shut it behind her. He chances a quick peek and the viceroy lays facedown on the bed, red soaking into the sheets. “Shall we go to the gate?”

He clips his weapon to his side and in a swift movement sort of flaps out of his jacket, holding it out so she can shove her arms through. The action is domestic. The action is familiar. Her reaction is a hidden blush under smudged viceroy blood. “Honey, I thought you’d never ask.”

*

“I’m still cold.”

“You’re still cold?”

They’re in his office and it’s very late. So late that they probably shouldn’t even bother going to sleep because by the time they do it won’t matter. He’s got his grandpa glasses on, sitting under the spotlight of a large lamp as he reads over his mission statement, and hers, making sure everything corroborates. Explaining why they came back from a diplomatic mission to off a system lord, she came back dressed like one.

Man did she ever come back dressed like one, minus his jacket of course, and the guys in the gate room sort of stared. Walter sort of stared. A few years ago, like when they went to that mining planet, he stared. But he knows the other half to the dress, the memories she doesn’t own, the actions she didn’t take but paid for anyway. He prefers her in a jersey and boy shirts, or sweats and a black top, doesn’t care just wants her happy.

She leans back against his side, reading a magazine Sam picked up for her, tented knees support the book. She’s doing a quiz on whether she’s a lover or a fighter and he already knows the answer. She’s in her pajamas, silken yoga pants and a black tank top. She has some sort of thin robe on top of it and he knows at least half her wardrobe is not practical.  

He lifts his arm and hugs it around her legs, enjoying the little sigh she makes when his warmth becomes her warmth.

“What did you do with the dress?” It doesn’t say on her report and he needs to write it on his.

She tilts her head back so it rests against his thigh, her eyes batting playfully, a little flirty. “I gave it to wardrobe.”

“Wardrobe?”

“Yes, in case I need to parade around as Qetesh again.” Snaps her head back to the magazine and x’s out the last question. The magazine falls with a splat to the ground beside the saggy leather couch and she grumps. “I’m a fighter.”

“I think you’re both.” Just scribbles _wardrobe_ with a question mark beside it in the area where he has to state where assets were transferred to.

Instead of tilting her head back this time, she sort of seal rolls onto her stomach, crossing her arms in his lap and resting her chin on top. “Because I love to fight?”

“What? No.” Splats his paperwork to the floor too. Outside a few soldiers walk by, their shadows dancing across the backlit light from the halls against his thin blinds. “Please don’t tell me I’m starting to make dad jokes.”

“No.” She knows what a dad joke is, they’ve been on a rom com binge. Actually, she’s been on a rom com binge, he’s just been along for the horrible, horrible ride. “Just seemed like an appropriate answer.”

“You fight, yeah. I mean you fight with everyone over everything.”

“I don’t.”

“You love an argument.”

“I prefer the term debate.”

“Look, you love the few people you do in different way, and part of that love is fighting for them.”

“Hmm.” She flops onto her back, her head in his lap, and he starts to absently play with her hair, wishes they were at home, because she’s going to fall asleep soon and he could just carry her to bed there, let her marvel about how she ended up there in the morning and then try to teach her how to fry eggs again. They always end up scrambled. Her hand reaches up and strokes his cheeks, and under his chin. At two in the morning, it’s as refreshing as a cold shower. “I’d fight a galaxy for you.”

“Only a single galaxy?” He traces her arm from shoulder to hand and captures her fingers in his. “I think I’ve already fought at least two, maybe three for you.”

“Have you really made that many mad?”

“No, but if you want to fight them I can.”


	18. Chicken Toe

Had every intention of it being a normal day. They have reservations at a nice restaurant downtown because it’s their three-year anniversary. Three years and he doesn’t want to be cliched and think where has the time gone, but then in their line of work something could be sapping time from them.

He groans, his thigh hurting a bit from sitting too long, stretches his leg out without getting up from the chair, foot sneaking out from underneath his desk. He’s reading through the mission reports from yesterday, Vala and the Wonder Twins went to another ruin searching for more clues to the Clava Thessara junk and came back with a little more than a few pictures of ancient text on walls, and something that looks like a chicken foot made out of brass. It has a few cogs in it and looks like it might be a time piece. The Jacksons didn’t have time between missions to figure out what it was, but it’s not showing up on any radiation meters, and doesn’t seem to be omitting anything harmful.

When he pulls the plastic bag tighter against the chicken foot, he can see there’s a missing claw, only thee instead of four with a space in between. Vala did yank it out of her jacket pocket at the last minute and when they gave her the same unsurprised look, she shrugged and said she almost forgot it before it poked her in the thigh.

It’s nearing 1800, time for him to check in with Dr. Lee about the new time dilation weapon he’s been working on. It’s been his project for the last year and during the latest trials on snails he managed to slow them down—he thinks. Then he’s got a meeting with Lam to make sure she’s prepared to vaccinate all the teams that visit the cyclone planet making them a little less conductive. Has no idea why O’Neill agreed to continue in their planetary aid, but he’s far too tired, too preoccupied to care. Just keeps sending Teal’c and Rodriguez back until they tell him otherwise.

Also has to read through a rough draft of the Alien Act Landry and the IOA are working so closely together on. It’s about the size of two and a half phonebooks, and he’s just going to try to pawn it off on the Jacksons when they get back.

But first he knocks on O’Neill’s door, it’s Landry’s door really, but O’Neill is filling in and someone forgot to tell him Sam was taking a journey on the _Odyssey_ for the next two months, because he arrived pissed and is still pissed.

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just opens the door, to relieve his armful of mission reports and the weird chicken leg thing.

“Mitchell,” O’Neill greets him without glancing up from what he thinks is last week’s mission reports but is actually the newspaper’s weekend crossword puzzle.

“Here’s the mission reports from yesterday.” O’Neill nods towards his overflowing in box, as he fills in another answer, so he tosses down the chicken foot. “And the loot they brought back.”

“Gross.” The general pokes at it with the end of his pen, then nudges it along until it sits to the side.

They stand in an awkward silence for a few seconds and he juts his thumb to the door. “I’ve got to go visit Lee before SG-1 returns from—”

“Actually, while I have you here, can you stay put on base tonight?”

“Can’t tonight, Sir, I actually have plans.”

“Yeah, I saw that you signed Mal Doran out for what—” he snatches out a piece of paper from the middle of the inbox pile, finger counting while scaling down a column “—the fourth time this week, or the fifteenth time this month, you guys must be really good friends, huh?”

“I know what it looks like—”

“Me too.” O’Neill scratches a new word over an answer he’s filled in at least twice by now, the pen almost tears through the paper. “It looks like you’ll both be staying on base tonight.”

*

He’s a little pissed, reserved the restaurant over two months ago. Wanted her to feel special because it seems like every time she goes on a date with anyone it ends up badly. She’s probably been looking forward to it all day, juggling the Jacksons and translating Goa’uld in a hot, humid cave covered in dirt and all sweaty and he realizes that he hasn’t been paying attention to a single thing Dr. Lee has been telling him.

The doctor glances up with dipping eyebrows and his hands fastened to the large, oversized weapon.  “So, you understand, right Colonel Mitchell.”

There’s a beat before he knows he should answer, defensively he crosses his arms and gives a stern nod. “Of course.”

“Good. Good.” Dr. Lee lets out a breath of relief and wipes the back of his sweat soaked forehead with the sleeve of his lab coat. “I’ll give you my report before the conference tomorrow.”

“Ugh.” He turns towards the door knowing that the Wonder Twins and Vala are due back any minute which takes precedence over some conference he hasn’t heard of before now. “Sure thanks.”

“Great.” Dr. Lee nods and gives him the thumbs up and he tries not to think about what he could’ve possibly gotten himself into.

*

Runs into the room as the gate bursts to life and two Jacksons march through. Two Jacksons and that’s it. He waits, he doesn’t know why he waits, but by the time the Jacksons are over to him he knows what’s happening.

“Tell me the problem.”

“Apparently Vala’s been to this planet before and didn’t remember it.” Daniel One huffs from the side of his mouth.

Daniel Two yanks of his glasses and produces a cloth to clean them with. “She didn’t actually remember until she was being arrested.”

“So, she’s in jail. Again.”

“Again”

“And Again.”

“Then go back and get her out.” Speaks through a clenched jaw.

“We tried Mitchell.”

“We hit a block.”

They drop their packs and begin removing the contents, including the currency they took in the very unusual occurrence that Vala get thrown in jail. “Didn’t you have enough money?”

“It wasn’t that—”

“The planet is very superstitious of twins.”

He snorts back a laugh, keeping his composure because the Jacksons still have to go back to drop off her bail. “Did you…tell them…that you weren’t twins?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“They didn’t believe us.”

“Well, can you blame them?” Both look very unhappy with his ribbing because they want nothing more than to be seen as separate people despite having the same everything. “What’s the plan for retrieval then?”

“She can retrieve herself.”

“What?”

“The jail isn’t a dungeon and it’s certainly not high security.”

“She’ll be back by the end of the day.”

*

Sure enough nearing 2400 he gets commed to the gate room for an off-world activation and she looks awful. She’s covered in dirt and sweat like he thought, but she’s guarding her left arm and is limping a bit down the ramp.

“What happened?” He slides an arm around her back to help, but the pressure of his shoulder against her arm makes her hiss. “Broken arm?”

“Dislocated shoulder. I’m sorry, I’m just a bit—” she pants and he directs her to the bench at the back of the room.  She hobbles and falls into place with a gasp of pain. He tries to assess her injuries, as professionally as possible. There’s a deep cut on her one leg, and her ankle is almost swollen over the top of her shoes.

“High class jail my ass.” Holds her hand as he rolls her pant leg back down.

“What, darling?” Her face is wet and shiny and red as she breaths deeply and she might be on the brink of passing out.

“Get medical to the gate room now.”

*

Dr. Rix stiches up her leg and resets her shoulder. Her ankle turned out to be a bad roll, at least that’s the first thing she tells him when she hobbles into his room at 0130.

“I didn’t have time for a shower.” She warns as he helps her, actually swoops her, towards the edge of his bed.

“Doesn’t matter.” He wiggles off her boots and tugs off her socks. Directs her arm out of her sling holding the weight in his hand as he slowly peels her black t-shirt, heavy with sweat and it slaps to the floor. Lets her shimmy out of her pants while he turns down the bed. “Heating pad or ice pack?”

“Ice pack.” Cradles her arm to her chest and kicks away her remaining clothes.

Throws the sheets back for her, cracking the ice pack a little too early making his hands go numb. She settles with some difficulty beside him, her body turned against him, injured leg thrown over his, and rests on her uninjured shoulder. He sets the ice pack on her shoulder and she shivers shuffling against him. She smells like earth and sweat.

“Oh,” she pops awake seconds before falling into a complete sleep and pecks a kiss to his jaw. “Happy Anniversary, Darling.”

“Happy Anniversary.”

*

When he wakes she’s not in his room. It’s a little before six and he’s running a bit late to the debriefing meeting of the botched mission. Manages to get in a quick shower, the locker room oddly full for a Saturday morning when most privates have leave, and then jogs to the cafeteria to grab an awful coffee and muffin before the meeting. Expects to see her among the room packed for breakfast but can’t find her in the crowd. He bags his muffin, she probably had an early check-up with Dr. Lam, so he jogs back up two storeys.

“Morning.” Lam greets him as he pops through the door before it’s fully slid open. He’s holding a Styrofoam cup full of thick black liquid they’re pulling off as coffee, but it smells more like tar and something illegal. A quick scan of the room reveals that she’s not here either. Maybe she got to the meeting before him. Lam must notice his confusion. “Looking for someone?”

“Oh, I just thought maybe Vala snuck in here early for a check-up.” Knows she can’t reveal any private information but maybe asking if she’s been there is basic enough.

“No.” Lam shakes her head and sets a folder onto a metal desk, flipping through it briefly. “She hasn’t been here. I didn’t know she was back.”

“Yeah, she came back late last night, about midnight.”

“Did she get her health check-up?”

“Yeah as soon as she got through the gate, she was pretty banged up.” Turns to leave because she’s probably either slept through her alarm if they gave her sedatives or couldn’t sleep at all and beat him to the conference room.

Lam shakes her head again. “I’ve got the logs here from yesterday and there’s nothing from her.”

“You sure?” Stops so fast his coffee sloshes, thick liquid beading drops onto his skin, burning a bit.

“Yep, log for Thursday—”

“Oh no, it was Friday.”

“What.”

“She came back yesterday.”

“That was Thursday.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was Friday.”

“Cam.” Her face very straight without a hint of playfulness. “Today is Friday.”

“No, it’s Saturday.”

She holds out her arms to the office and scoffs. “If it’s Saturday why am I working. I get weekends off remember?”

“Yeah but—” Glances down to his watch the ticker tape numbers read that it’s Friday the twelfth. “Okay but I swore—maybe it was just a dream then.” Pauses and when he turns his arm more coffee spills onto the floor. It was so real, the coldness on his hands from the icepack, the slickness from her sweat and blood, “I gotta go.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Lam takes a few steps forward, her lab coat swaying. “Been sleeping and eating okay?”

“Fine Carolyn, I just, I gotta go.”

*

Runs, doesn’t jog, to his office where after he juggles a coffee and a muffin, he gets the door open. The chicken foot in a bag stops him. Either he’s got some new cool powers, or he’s been here before.

*

“General O’Neill did you put this back on my desk?” He holds the chicken foot in a plastic bag, still as he remembered it, dried, very thin bronze with three tines, one broken off and missing.

“Ew, get it off.” O’Neill exclaims as he pushes it away from the crossword on his desk. The same word written over only once. “The hell is wrong with you, Mitchell?”

“I think I’m reliving the same day.”

“Get your own plotlines.” O’Neill nudges the chicken foot into his inbox and flaring his nostrils in disgust. “By the way I’m gonna need you to—”

“Yeah, yeah me and Vala will stay on base tonight,” mumbles and turns for the door.

“What’s this about you and Vala?” O’Neill yells after him but is probably more interested in the crossword puzzle.

*

Skips his meeting with Dr. Lee and has Walter comm the Jacksons and Vala off-world telling them to return early.

“Why does Mitchell want us back so early—”

“He agreed to let us have until six o’clock.”

“Look Sunshines.” He grabs the microphone from Walter who throws his hands up in protest but then just sighs. “Vala there with you?”

“I’m here, darling, explain away.”

“I need you all back here now.”

“Is it an emergency?” Whichever Jackson it is sounds pissed.

“Consider it one.”

*

“You can’t just tell them it’s an emergency without it being—”

“If they stayed, Vala might be found out, this planet should’ve been on her blackgate list, but the girl must’ve missed it.” Leans over the console watching as the gate whirs to life. It’s been twenty-five minutes, the longest twenty-five minutes of his damn life.

“What girl?”

“The office assistant.”

“Oh she’s really sweet, she brought in cupcakes for—”

Daniel One runs through the gate, followed by Daniel Two carrying Vala, she’s ragdolled in his arms and there’s blood all over his BDU jacket. 

“No.” Doesn’t realize he’s saying it, doesn’t realize what he’s doing until Walter is calling for medical.

He takes off down the stairs, two at a time, and the clomp to the ground sends a irradiating pain up his thigh. He runs over to where Daniel Two lays her against the bench, her arms, her shirt covered in blood, and he counts four entry holes before one of the Daniels forces down a towel to stem the bleeding.

Her shaky hand reaches up for him. “Darling.”

“I’m here, baby, I’m right here.” The Daniels are gone, Walter is gone, the random privates witnessing their reunion are gone.

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t fast enough and—” There’s a gurgle in the back of his throat and he can feel each beat of his heart, his hands go numb, but this time there’s no icepack, just her hand.

Wants to tell her it’ll be okay because the med team is on their way and they’ll take her and patch her up and he’ll have her out dancing by the end of the week.

But she’s bled through the towel.

She’s shaking.

She’s so cold and starting to fall asleep.

“Vala.” Bends on his knees, his thigh ache no longer matters as he moves in closer and she smells like sweat and blood and earth. “Listen, just stay awake. Please you can’t—”

“It’s all right,” her voice is soft and reassuring as the Jacksons scream orders at privates around them, pure chaos and through it she manages to peck the tip of her index finger and reach for his nose. He has to finish the action for her because she falls short. It makes him laugh as the first tears fall and when she doesn’t respond he touches her face, light, then heavy handed.

She doesn’t respond.

The med team has to pry him away.

*

They were ambushed on their way back to the gate. Vala pushed the Jacksons ahead allowing them to work the DHD as she covered them, but there were too many officers. Daniel Two said it was like a firing squad.

She’s had the blood cleaned up off her, and the machine removed from the tube in her mouth. Her skin is very white in the already bright room, and she looks small, smaller than he’s ever seen her. Her hair has blood clumped in it, and some dried leaves and a small stick. Her fingernails are painted a deep purple and are caked with dirt.

He sits, alone, in the cold room with her laying on the table, blood no longer running from her body, and he cries. He holds her hand, icepack cold and holding a phantom kiss for him and he cries until his eyes are dry.

He cries until he gets a headache

Cries until he can’t breathe.

This is his hell.

This is his nightmare.

This is him sending her out on a normal recon mission with the Jacksons and her not coming back.

Never coming back.

Her clothes are still in his bottom dresser drawer because it’s easier for her to crouch than it is for him, also sometimes he gets a good view of her ass. There are plants in his backyard that she put there, and leftovers in his fridge for her.

When he starts to fall asleep, he shimmies the stool forward so he can lay his head against her chest and pray for her heartbeat, but it’s silent, everything around him is silent and white and cold.

Vala is gone.

He is not.

And he failed her in everyway possible.

*

He wakes up in his bed the next day, his eyes still pained from crying and his face looks like shit. Doesn’t know what to do. Stay in bed all day. Quit. Take an extended leave of absence as he drinks himself into a stupor and starts to see hallucinations of her. It’s 0500 and he doesn’t change out of his pajamas, which is against protocol, and he walks the hallways like a zombie with shuffling feet inside hard soled slippers.

The door whooshes open to the medical bay and he finds Lam yawning, siting perched at a stool and typing up things onto her very white computer. She startles a bit when she notices him, “Cam, oh my God, you look awful.”

“Where is she?” The doors slide closed behind him and he shuffles to the room they put her in last night, after they pulled him away, after both Jacksons had to keep hold of him because he kept trying to return to her.

“Where is who?”

“Goddammit.” His fist pounds the desk and her coffee jitters, sending drops all over the floor. She gasps and pushes back until she hits the filing cabinet and he stops because she wouldn’t want him to act this way. Rubs his aching eyes with cold, coarse fingers. “I’m sorry, I just want to see Vala before you move her.”

“Vala?’ When he doesn’t respond her eyebrows droop in concern. “Cam, Vala’s still planet side, she’s not due back until 1800—”

He’s out of the room before she finishes.

*

Calls them back at 0600 as an emergency which Walter still doesn’t understand. They make it through the gate by 0630 and by 0631 he’s got her in the biggest bear hug in front of half a dozen privates, both Jacksons, and Walter. Before she can protest he grabs her hand and drags her out of the gate room back to his dorm and he can barely keep his hands off her before the door shuts behind them.

“Cameron, darling, while I’m not one to—oh.” His hand skirts up the length of her thighs and stroking her through day old BDU pants. “Did you really—oh—did you really—fuck it.”

*

He doesn’t remember much about the rest of that day, only that General O’Neill manages to catch them in bed together, probably because of his uncharacteristic unprofessionalism, and he gets suspended without pay, Vala is suspended without pay and while he’s forced to leave the base for that time, she’s grounded within it.

But at least she’s alive.

*

Wakes up in his bed on base the next day.

And the next.

And the next until he loses count and he doesn’t know what the hell happened but he’s lived so many lifetimes in one day.

It took him three weeks to read through all the paperwork that Landry sent him on the Alien Act and so far it’s a little unjust, certain religious rights and freedoms being denied here and there under extenuating circumstance, he knows the words and the law gibberish inside and out. Not that savvy with law, but he knows how to use Google.

Finds out what Lee was actually talking about with his time dilation gun and thought that the weapon was making him relive the same day, day after day, without aging without anything on his body changing save for the constant ache in his thigh. Turns out Lee’s weapon was sort of a bust, and the doctor asked him to get Sam to present it at a conference Saturday, so Lee could have the night off to be with his wife.

Speaking of Sam, he got her on the horn more than once to talk some sense into a very grumpy general who was not happy being stuck on babysitting duty without his partner in crime. Didn’t hear what she said to O’Neill over the phone, but nine times out of ten it straightens him out. On the tenth time he hangs up the phone before even listening to her by saying, “Oops, my finger slipped.”

The Jacksons and Vala are a little more tricky. He doesn’t have the same timeline with them as he does with everyone else. If he gets them out before 0700 they’re all fine but then he has to explain why he cut the mission early and everyone just assumes it’s so he and Vala can have sex, which is right ninety-nine percent of the time. Twice she’s calmed him and let him reclaim his senses.

Between 0701 and 1100 if he calls them back., Vala dies painfully in a riddle of bullets and he’s seen it enough that it wakes him up at night despite living the same day.

From 1101 to 1500 if he calls them back, one of the Jacksons dies, which doesn’t seem like quite a loss, but he’s seen her reaction to it, which is hard to bear when the day before he was reacting the same way to her death. 

If he calls them back between 1501 and 1800, both Jacksons die, and he’s had to view the anguish on her face enough times to last however many days they have left remaining together. Laid beside her in bed as she sat upright, her whole body shaking, her arms capturing her knees and rocking and gasping until she’s so exhausted that she lets him hold her, calm her until the sobs raking her body slow into a gentle sleep.

*

The Jacksons appear through the gate at 1801, and they’re Vala-less because he’s let the normal day run its course.  But he’s prepared because he’s going off book today, had Vala draw up plans to the jail in previous days and now he knows it inside out. It’s tattooed into his memory and he brings only the weapons she suggested with an amused laugh.

“Let me guess.” Brushes by the Jacksons as they tilt their heads in confusion at him. “Vala’s in jail. Again. Again again. Again again again. Again to the last degree because I’m tired of this shi—”

And through the gate he goes.

*

There are no cops or guards waiting for him because he’s not a wanted man on the planet. Always assumed the gate was in the middle of a wooded area with a huge hike to civilization, but it’s almost in a city square of sorts. It’s very bright with light gray stone reflecting direct sunlight and children running around with dog-like animals playing in puddles from a recent rain. There are vendors trying to peddle goods, and women meeting for tea at open cafes. Vala would love it here if they didn’t already arrest her.

Walks straight, following her instructions playing in his head that she offered up one night while sitting in his lap and tugging on his ear with her lips. There’s a hard right and then the street sort of banks in to the left where a small prison sits up on a hill, surrounded by guards and a large electric fence.

“Sorry, Sir, no outside guests allowed in.” The guard at the gate offers him a friendly grin leaning against his tasing pole like a cane.

He grabs his SGC ID from around his neck, yanking so the lanyard breaks and hands it to the guard. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell from Stargate Command, Earth. I’m here to collect one of my wayward soldiers.” It is entirely an understatement.

The guard assesses his ID, then his face, then mumbles something into the communicator located on the sash around his armor. Walking away from the gate for more privacy. A few moments later he walks back and nods with approval, opening the gate.

Inside he has to hand over his weapon, the one Vala told him to bring, a simple sidearm and the warden or chief is so surprised SGC sent someone to retrieve her, that he steps carefully down a spiral staircase before the cell area to meet with him.

“I need to take her back.” Cuts right to the chase because he knows if he leaves her for much longer she’s going to start fidgeting and dislocate her shoulder breaking out of her cuffs, then tear her leg open hopping the wall, and roll her ankle falling on it badly on the other side.

“I completely understand that Colonel Mitchell.” The warden is an older man with a big moustache and very thick white hair. “But she needs to serve time for all the objects she pilfered.”

“Can I take her if I pay you the monetary amount for the objects lost.”

“Well, I suppose so but—”

“What’s the amount.”

“It’s quite expensive, Colonel Mitchell.”

“Which is?”

“In Tau’ri coin? Perhaps five thousand dollars.”

He almost laughs, almost laughs until he’s red-faced at the kind old man who doesn’t know he has almost another fifty thousand dollars stashed away on him to break his girlfriend out of jail again. Manages to keep a straight face and throws some extra bills on the table. “That’s six thousand, an extra grand for any trouble she’s caused you since getting arrested.”

The warden’s eyes light up as he hurriedly collects the money, stammering something to the guards to let him retrieve her at once. “She must be very precious to stargate command.”

He stands waiting for the guards to open the cellblock door and half grins. “She’s irreplaceable.”

*

They’ve shackled her to the wall, which he understands because this is Vala, she’s pretty much the David Copperfield of the universe, but it doesn’t make him any less bitter. The guards disengage the door, which is more of an energy shield, and it disappears.

The guards hesitate before entering the cell.

“You do something to them, princess?”

“Not recently.”

They press buttons on a panel to the side, breaking down the forcefield and the energy beams acting as shackles. She topples to the ground, her legs giving out briefly as she rubs her wrists. “How much did I cost you this time, darling?”

“Only five grand, your stock has really plummeted.” The guards watch as he approaches her crumpled on the ground and offers her a hand to help her stand. “A bad fiscal quarter.”

“I expect to make it up in sales.” She dusts the shoulders off his jacket and grins. “Hello handsome.”

“Later.” He hums well aware of the guards watching their every move. “Can you walk?”

When she takes a step her legs almost give out and he catches her. “Eventually.”

*

He ends up piggybacking her to the gate, her idea not his, and her hands keep sliding up to cover his eyes at the worst times, but then he hears her giggle, and remembers how cold her body felt all the times it was laid out in Lam’s lab and he lets her. She relaxes her head against his shoulder while they bounce through town and through his BDUs he feels her sigh.

“You okay?”

“That was the first jail full of gentlemen I’ve ever encountered.” Catches the meaning, relieved that she’s not hurt. He stops before the DHD and lets her squirm down his back, but something catches him, like a nail in his ass.

“God, what the hell was that.” He rubs the area in question getting a very amused smirk from her.

She digs through the front pocket of her jacket, the one she never brought back because she either left it in a hurry after he demanded their return to the SGC, or she left it in jail after breaking out. “Oh, it’s this piece from that scrawny little fork I brought back yesterday.”

He almost laughs at the word yesterday.

*

The last tine fits in the fork perfectly and the Jacksons reassure him, with Sam on the line, still giving shit to O’Neill when she knows he’s rolling his eyes, that he should stop being in a time loop now, that the piece just needed to be reunited and he forgets they’re talking about the chicken foot for a second.

*

The restaurant is perfect, a quiet little place tucked into the back of a renovated warehouse. Big bay windows that leak in sunlight and the industrial look sort of works with the lacy tablecloths and tealight candles. Their table is the perfect size, enough to fit them both, the food is great, they share an appetizer and when she asks to get three different types of martinis he obliges, but she quickly plays it off as a joke.

For dessert there is a pie, a whole pie that he got from her favorite bakery just for her. If he was smart enough he would’ve thought ahead and buried a ring in it but knowing her huge bites and love of pie she would’ve just eaten it.

They end the night on his bed, watching zoo bloopers on the Animal Channel, she’s reclining on top of the sheets when he exits the bathroom, wearing a tank top hiked to just under her breasts and a pair of panties, her stomach overfull with food.

“You need to pace yourself better, honey.” Tosses his shirt into the hamper and yanks his pants off before crawling under the covers.

She groans at the waving movement of the mattress. “You were going to let me have three martinis.”

He shrugs, “You wanted three martinis, who am I to deny you that. It’s your anniversary.”

“It’s your anniversary too.” Her hand flops to his head tickling through his hair as she grins at him, half awake and very satiated.

“Yeah well—” he clicks off the light and falls back beside her, pulling the blankets up over her and nuzzling his nose at her neck. His arm wrapping around her as she shivers into him. “Drunk Vala is fun too.”

“Mmm,” she doesn’t sound convinced but holds her hand to his cheek. “Happy anniversary, darling.”

“Happy anniversary, princess.”

The next morning he wakes up in bed next to her, and he closes his eyes to go back to sleep.

 

 


	19. Clava

He finally gets to leave the SGC, actually gets to walk through that beautiful blue blob and onto another planet, it’s been over three years since he was forcefully promoted into team management. Still doesn’t know what lead to Landry doing it, maybe he groaned about his thigh too much, maybe it was the fact that his team was slowly disintegrating and then reintegrating with extra pieces and a more floral concept.

The mission is easy, but he doesn’t complain. Part of him is too old for it, if he was in any other facet of the military he probably would have retired by now, should’ve retired after the plane crash, but then things would have been drastically different, he never would have known about aliens, up close and personal. He never would have met certain people now essential to his every day life.

“Cameron, undies go in the hamper.” She putters around his room grabbing stinky socks and week-old boxers off the floor, chucking them into a laundry basket that’s never seen the light of day. If it wasn’t for his housekeeper, his home would be a frat house.

“You know I have a housekeeper, right?” He’s sitting on the bed, typing up a storm trying to answer all the emails he can before they have to drive into work. It’s five in the morning and she’s adjusting to his alarm.

She drops another handful of clothing into the basket, a stray sock plops onto the floor and she retrieves it with a very agile bare foot. He’s well aware he licks his lips. “You should be doing this for yourself. You’re a grown man. Every time we come here, it’s a mess.”

“Honey, I’m never here unless you are too.”

She ignores his little prod, his way of half blaming her for the mess and getting himself out of crap because he only wants to be with her.

He does only want to be with her and he’s thought about it a lot lately.

“Why do you have this housekeeper anyway? Why do two women need to clean up after you.”

“Well she’s government issued so it’s not like I can refuse her, and the other one just loves me I guess.” Absently. He said it absently and his fingers keep typing away before the implications of his words sink in and he stops. When he glances up she’s stilled like an animal in headlights. Mouth slack and eyes wide, one pair of his boxers she excavated from under the dresser dangling from her fingers.

He thinks he wants to marry her, but the complications, job or otherwise are too overbearing to overthink the situation. Just wishes she could stay here with him instead of locked up in that dungeon of a mountain.

Then he starts to notice that she’s not as cool with the ‘L’ word as he is, because she really hasn’t moved a single inch and maybe it’s the implication that she loves him, or the implication that by thinking she loves him he’s projecting his own love of her, and maybe today he’ll say it to her. But for now all he can manage is, “I—uh—”

She reboots, tossing the balled boxers into the hamper and dusting her hands off on her thighs. She’s wearing these jeans that just hug her ass—and she said something and he missed it because he was checking out her ass. So he stares at her from over the screen of his laptop and waits for her to repeat it but she doesn’t.

She sighs and her posture falls a bit. “We’re going to be late.” Then she leaves the bedroom and he gets another perfect view of her ass.

He thinks he’s going to marry her.

*

“Can she do it?”

“Rodriguez, she was an interstellar thief before the SGC even accepted you. Do not doubt her skills.”

He and Vala team up with SG-7 who, for the last year have mainly visited one planet: P3J-505. The planet is modernized, but not without its vast temples and pubs dragged straight out of a game of Dungeons and Dragons. They were tasked with retrieving an artifact that might help find the Clava Thessara Whatever after both Jacksons made a truce and went over his head to Landry, who was not happy being disturbed while in Washington working on the Alien Act.

The Jacksons, virtuously enough, managed to sneak out of any off-world duty by providing research back up to Sam, who is helping Lam and Rix analyze that weird pollen from a year ago. The team unanimously and without verbal confirmation agreed never to talk about again unless deemed extremely necessary.

When he tried to talk about it with Vala a few weeks after, she turned away from him in bed. When he tried to apologize she answered in a tone he’s never heard from her before, small and quiet, almost removed, that she was tired of gestations being forced into her.

With Teal’c still assigned to help clear up the rubble of the Cyclone Planet, he needed to hop into duty and it’s just like riding a bike. But it’s completely not. Always worried about his team, it’s his task to bring everyone home safe, and he thought it would be the same—it was for the first few months after they agreed their relationship was serious—but it’s not the same. He worries about every single thing she does or doesn’t do.

Right now, she’s in a high security room with lasers and cameras and all sorts of alarm systems that can go off and lodge bullets or glass in her. She was the only one small enough for the ventilation system and he still finds it highly unlikely that there are no booby traps up there. She said to give her ten minutes before contacting her, well, she said ‘distracting’ her, but it’s the same thing, and it’s been eight minutes and fifty-seven seconds.

Thinks Rodriguez is breathing heavy beside him, but as he concentrates on the sound, he realizes it’s his own open mouth pants because he doesn’t know what the hell is happening in there. She could be on the ground knocked out by a poison dart that kills in ten minutes and have nine minutes and twenty-three seconds of her time gone.

“Are you okay, dude?” Rodriguez asks, raising his eyebrows to his hand grasping so hard against the walkie that the plastic is cracking, shaking the device in anxious tremors.

“I’m fine, and that’s ‘Sir’ to you.”

“Vala doesn’t call you sir.” He waits, his eyes narrowing and his hand stilling out of irritation until the private adds, “Sir.”

She does call him sir, just not at the SGC and not in front of anyone else, and not when they’re not in the bedroom and usually not when they don’t have those fuzzy pink handcuffs out.

He’s strongly considering marrying her because when he thinks about it now, he gets a little jolt of excitement, like the adult equivalent of a kid on Christmas.

Then he notices it’s been ten minutes and forty-seven seconds and that excitement saps away into the fear. The fear he has of someone coming back and telling him she’s gone, the fear he knows will drive him back to whatever planet she’s on to see because he won’t accept it otherwise, the fear that will slowly deconstruct him because she’s the only one who could make his pieces fit together so well.

But there’s bumping, the knees and elbows of a crawling ex-free agent, really pirate thief and he’s seen her hotwire a cargo ship before, her ass pushed out while precise fingers pulled and connected wires and he might have stifled the groan in his throat too late and Jackson might have given him an awkward raised eyebrow.

She topples out of the vent, flips over herself and lands perfectly on her feet because to her it’s just like riding a bicycle even though she’s never ridden one before. He manages to stifle the same groan before Rodriguez notices, and he breaks their cover from behind two very ornate wooden chests.

“Got it.” She grins and holds up a small golden key. It’s the size of a regular house or car key and it’s tarnished into a dull brown color.

“Wow.” Rodriguez holsters his P-90 at his thigh and is honest in his amazement because he doesn’t know better and can’t even begin to understand half the shit that she can do. “Good job, dude.”

She squints her eyes because she doesn’t understand the slang, and he grins at her because of course she did it and of course she’s safe and one day she might be his wife and he gets that little jolt of excitement back.

*

Everything is fine until they try to walk out the front door. Major Dumas, who, he agrees with Vala, is a major dumbass, was supposed to be watching the front but to entertain themselves at a local pub instead. She later confirms this is a usual thing and if there’s anything the boys of SG-7 are better at then drinking it’s impregnating random women.

Outside the front door, he’s taken, like a sucker, by the head of security that she so flawlessly flirted with earlier to get her access into the museum through the back. The guard glares at her and demands she give back what she stole. The gun is to his head, the cold metal pooling at his temple and he can feel where the dip of the barrel is against his skin.

Protocol states that while it’s important to value team members over items, if the item is Ancient in origin, and could say, pay for an entire planet’s military funding so that a certain General could come home from Washington, that precedence is given to it. That there should be a plan put in motion to obtain both said teammate and the artifact.

Vala, in a sturdy calmness nods once and produces the key immediately. “You let him go and you have my word, I’ll toss it to you.”

The guard, a grizzled older man, must be good at reading people despite letting her just walk into the place, or he must still want a chance with her, because he nods once and when she tosses the key, the pressure on his temple relieves and the guard snatches up the artifact with a stiff grunt.

He toddles back over to her, his ego as bruised as his temple.

“Are you okay?” Her hand raises to graze the side of his face, but he jerks out of the way, whether it’s from knowing Rodriguez is still watching or knowing that he’s not as sharp off-world as he used to be, he doesn’t know.

All he knows is that she looks hurt.

*

They return to the SGC with a drunk Major Dumas and two buzzed privates in tow. Rodriguez skips ahead before them, eager to see the discipline of his butthead teammates. Walter announces as soon as they hit the metal slope from the gate that General O’Neill is visiting and wants a word with him about how he’s running the place.

Considering he just spent the day staking out and breaking into a museum to watch his girlfriend endanger her life only to rescue his, it’s a bad fucking day.

He walks ahead of her, still not sure if the hardness in his gut is coming from the alternating bursts of excitement and fear, or from being incapable in the field anymore. He is getting up there. She still handles herself fine, great, better than him and he realizes that he doesn’t even know how old she is.

Dreams of marriage are just that. They’re way to different, they’re not even both from Earth, he would have so much to teach her, taxes, holidays, what’s appropriate and inappropriate to wear, to discuss, to ear, in different settings. The IOA would have a fucking field day, they’d both lose their jobs and end up in his shitty little house hating each other.

But she reaches for him. Grabs his hand and he stops out of respect, maybe because if the tables were turned she would offer him the same civility. She doesn’t say a word as her hand slides into his, and their eyes connect as she drops something into his palm, then struts by him like nothing happened.

When he glances down, his fingers are curled around the Clava in the Clava Thessara blah-blah-blah.

He’s going to marry her.


	20. The Ring

They’re on their way to Atlantis and it’s not by choice. Sam sent him a message a few days ago requesting help in dealing with removing Ancient treasure from the slowly flooding catacombs under the city. Of course, the Jacksons both jumped at the chance to return to Atlantis without having to give up their prized spot at the SGC, and while Sam was happy to accept both of them, especially on such short notice, she sent him another message pleading for someone else to accompany them to keep her sane.

“We’re a few hours out now.” Sits beside her at the cafeteria table. Across from them the Jacksons pillow their heads on their arms against the cafeteria table and snore softly.

“Oh, trinkets and baubles.” She claps her hand in excitement and then steals a handful of fries from his tray.

He manages to steal two of them back before she shoves the rest in her mouth and he probably would’ve tried to take those back too if Teal’c didn’t clear his throat and raise a judging eyebrow. His hand drops from the air and he takes a long hard swig of his water before reverting to what she said. “You know you can’t take anything from Atlantis, right?”

“Right.” She nods hamming it up and then winks so no one in the cafeteria misses it.

“No, Vala.” He laughs and drops his hand over his fries that she tries to snatch more. “Atlantis has really strict rules about what comes into the city and what’s allowed to come out, if they scan you and find an artifact that—”

“All right, all right, I won’t steal anything Colonel Party Pooper.”

He pokes a fry into the side of her arm and she keeps her lips pursed but snatches it from him anyway. “You need to work on your insults.”

“And you need to live a little.”

“You live enough for—”

“I am leaving.” Teal’c announces with a groan as he pushes himself to stand from the table and lumbers out into the hall.

“What’s with him?” she asks with the latest fry sticking out the corner of her mouth.

“I dunno, but I got a lot of straws.” Slams down a handful on the table and the Jacksons barely smack their lips. He starts to roll the paper into a long hook and reaches for Daniel One’s ears. “First one to wake a Jackson wins.”

*

Atlantis is sort of flooding. Not flooding enough to really sink the city, but there’s a split in one of the main water pipes and it’s all pouring into not entirely explored catacombs which is making McKay and the Jacksons ramble so much from anxiety that it sounds like a farm auction.

Luckily Shepperd redirects the doctors into some sort of lab where they continue to all speak at once, but only to each other as they overlap plans for fixing or redirecting the water. Sam is taking Teal’c, Vala, and two members of the Atlantean team, one he hasn’t met before, down for a closer look to see how bad the damage is and if something unnatural caused it. Which leaves him and Shepperd to just stand around directing traffic and running fantasy football plays against each other.

He’s tightening the straps on the pack they’ve lent to Vala, it’s way to big and a little too heavy and he really doesn’t understand what harm he could cause if he snuck down there too, but rules are rules and as long as they’re going to keep working for the SGC he’s going to need to follow them no matter how dumbass they are.

Vala on the other hand shimmies with excitement, making him work twice as hard to tighten her pack and twice as hard to hide his grin. “I can’t believe we’re going exploring.”

“Yeah, well, it’s going to be wet down there so make sure—”

“I’m bristling with excitement, just think of all the—” she pauses her eyes darting over to the console where a tall guy, taller than Teal’c but with more hair, has stopped talking to a woman coddling a baby and instead is watching them intently. Vala leans close to him as he rounds her side, yanking on the pack and happy with the way it stays. “Treasure.”

“Princess, you can’t bring back anything.”

“I know.” She nods in agreement and gives another big, theatrical wink and a goofy thumbs up.

“No, Vala.” But she’s staring at him with big hopeful eyes, and her lips roll against each other and she might be playing him, but dammit he loves her. He loves her a lot. He ducks his head and just chuckles, unable to meet her eyes again because she’s going to come back with something and there’s nothing he can do to stop her. “Just—ask Sam before you destroy the stable catacomb ecosystem.”

“Why my dear Colonel, I would never traipse around with the intent of destruction.”

“No, it’s never your intent.”

*

Before they disappear through the stargate to the underbelly of the city, she turns around waving at him and she might have given them away if the action wasn’t so entirely Vala. “I’ll bring you back something, darling.”

He cups his hands over his mouth so there’s no doubt she hears him over the din. “Please don’t.”

Shepperd stands beside him as they watch their respective teams disappear through the gate. The Atlantis gate is more of a spectacle, prettier to look at, but his is the original and there’s something special about it.

When there’s no one left in the room but him and Shepperd, the other Colonel voices, “Man it sucks getting old.”

*

They come back a little after supper time. He’s sitting in the cafeteria by himself working on insurance forms and trying to reconcile the cost of his second pair of glasses since the first were wrecked. Since she wrecked the first by sitting on them, but honestly, he shouldn’t have had them on the coffee table. She was bound to either put them on or sit on them and he didn’t do anything to stop it.

“Hey Mitchell,” Shepperd shouts from the doorway of the cafeteria, a few other privates narrow their eyes at the interruption. “Teams are back. Apparently, it was a problem with the main water valve. Everyone is soaked.

*

Soaked is an understatement. She’s frozen through to the bone and he just remembers holding her in the cave on that monsoon planet and her bare feet tucking underneath the wet material of his BDU pants.

She shakes and shimmies for a different reason as he helps her shuck the wet, icy, and clinging clothing. Steam pours over the top of the shower and she holds her arms across her chest until she pops in and shuts the door behind her.

Her teeth chatter for a few more minutes before she finally groans into the hot spray of water and turns her back to him.

“How you doing in there?” Stoops and starts collecting the bits of her discarded uniform tossed to the ground.

The water smacks against the bottom of the shower as she rings out her hair. “Better, I’m finally getting feeling back in my extremities.”

“Sometimes it pays not to have to go on the missions anymore.”

The door cracks open an inch and steam wafts into the room sticking to the small mirror above the sink. “You know, just because you didn’t accompany us on the sewer mission doesn’t mean you’re exempt from the shower.”

He cocks an eyebrow at her, placing her bra and panties on the lid of the toilet. “Meaning?”

She cocks an eyebrow back as he wrings out her black t-shirt, the water raining down on the tiles. “Meaning that if you wanted to accompany me in this shower you wouldn’t hear me protest.”

A sly grin grows on his lips and he folds her heavy pants over his arm. “Well in that case—” Only when he moves to set her pants with the rest of her discarded clothing something clinks out of her back pocket and skitters across the floor.

“Vala, you didn’t.” She ducks her head back into the shower, shutting the door silently and retreating to the safety of the water stream. “Vala?”

“I couldn’t help it, it was so pretty.”

Finds it—a ring, under the edge of the bathroom counters. It’s black and very detailed with a blue gem in the middle. He watches it catch the light, and it refracts differently. Behind him, her head pops back out of the shower, her makeup running from her eyes, and hair completely flat and leaking water over the bathroom floor.

“I told you not to bring anything.”

“I thought you were kidding.”

“I thought _you_ were kidding.”

“We’ll it’s a good thing neither of us takes the other too seriously.”

“Vala.” Pockets the ring and starts tossing towels from the shelves onto the floor, mopping them around by shuffling his feet.

“What?”

Bends his knees and feels the familiar burn dig into his thigh. He doesn’t know why after all these years she still needs to steal. If she needed anything, he would be more than happy to get it for her, hell, she probably has enough money stowed away to get whatever she wants for herself. “You know I have to give this back to them.”

“I know, but—”

Tosses his head back with an exacerbated sigh. “But what?”

“But it’s so pretty.”

*

He wishes he could keep it for her.

Wishes he had enough guts to just steal it away from one military base to another, but then he remembers what happened with Roscoe when he didn’t follow the proper protocols and for all he knows this could be the Atlantean equivalent of the Lord of the Rings ring.  

He finds the woman first, almost runs into her in the hallway and he feels like shit because he doesn’t remember her name. They were introduced to about twenty or thirty people within the span of just as many minutes and unfortunately her name didn’t make the cut.

When she stops short of him smashing into her, his hand keeping close contact with the ring in his front pocket of his pants he apologizes, lingering on her name until she blinks once and grins at him. “Teyla.”

“Thank you, I’m sorry, meeting everyone at once was just—”

“I assure you it’s not a problem, Colonel Mitchell.” The fact that she knows his name makes him feel more like shit. “You seem as if you’re in a rush. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Actually yeah.” He yanks his hand from his pocket pinching the ring between his index finger and this thumb. “Vala—uh—borrowed this from the catacombs.”

“Oh, it is very beautiful.”

“Yeah, that’s why she took it.” He grins because somehow she had to find the right moment to pickpocket the ring while staying in formation all in hip deep water. “Do you know who I can give it back to?”

Teyla stares at the ring now resting in her palm and then turns her attention back to him, the soft smile growing on her lips once again. “You care about her very much.”  

“We’ve been friends for a long time.”

“I think it’s more than that.” She flicks the ring back and forth between her fingers, the grin still present, still non-judgemental. “You compliment each other very well.”

“Uh—thanks?”

“I think you should keep the ring.”

Reaches to hand it back to him, but he holds his hands up defensively. “No, no, I couldn’t—”

“You should give it to her.”

“I wouldn’t want to take something from—”

“There are many of these rings littered around Atlantis making them nearly worthless.” Grabs a hold of his hand and places the ring into his palm. “But this ring, this is the one she picked.” Forces his fingers to clasp around it. “You should give it to her as a token of your relationship.”

Grins a final time and turns, leaving him in the middle of the hallway intersection with the hard bits of blank metal digging into his hand.

Leaving him with a wedding ring.

*

Two days later they’re back on the Daedalus and she slips into his room after curfew. Why they have curfew on the ship and not at base is still a mystery to him. But they’re experts at slinking through the hallways in the dark of morning and not being discovered.

“Are you still upset with me, darling?” Her hand flattens against his chest and when he exhales he watches it float in the darkness. They were separated for the last few days, her going to help the Jacksons and McKay—who is now looking into getting his own clone—with research. He was glad for her distraction because he was having a crisis over the ring and what it meant to him. What it meant for them and if he was ready for that. Knows he wants it, to marry her, to be with her forever, but doesn’t know how their jobs factor in. Only has a good ten years left before parts actually start falling off him.

“I was never upset.” Kisses the top of her head lazily with each word, his hand traveling to his chest to scoop hers up, to feel the cold finger pads.

“You’ve just been distracted a little in the last few days.”

“Hmmm,” agrees, his eyes starting to fall closed, but his fingers keep stroking up and down her arm, as her breath evens out in huffs against his chest.

Another beat passes and he thinks maybe she’s fallen asleep first, but she continues, “I’m sorry I had to steal. It’s just so easy for me to—”

“You don’t have to apologize for it. It’s who you are.” Lips find hers in the darkness and he senses her hesitancy, her doubt of his words. “And I love who you are.”


	21. Molar

They’re on good old P3X-505 for an extended mission, one he had to come along for because after the whole unexplored catacombs thing on Atlantis, the Jacksons effectively defected to join Sam and McKay in rooting through supposedly endless rooms for more artifacts pointing towards a solution to finding the Clava Thessara Infinitus.

That excuse has been run into the ground harder than his plane over Antarctica.   

SG-7 isn’t so much a team as a bunch of people who met in a room and now have to find a way to escape while still addressing each other with army civilities. There’s a riff in the team, Major Dumas has been working with Morton and Reyes for almost as long as he’s been working with Vala. She’s been on the team on and off for the last year, and while the guys of SG-7 are anything but calm and debonair, she must have proven herself to them because they address her with more respect than most of the other people at the SGC do.

They’re staying at a sort of hole-in-the-wall inn with a pub in the basement. The room is far too small. There’s only four tables but a bar takes up over half the room with more stools then space. She’s upstairs in her room ‘freshening up’ which means she’s either reading the next chapter to Harry Potter, or she wants a quick nap. 

He has a stool saved for her beside him, but they’re not going to get very far if Dumas and his boys don’t duck out to do some city exploring. Rumors about the major are well known and widespread, he likes his booze and he likes his women. He doesn’t give a crap what the good major does as long as it’s not on government time and doesn’t compromise the mission again. He’s sure O’Neill must have uttered the same phrase to him about his relationship with Vala, and he just denied it, slipping from the room.

“Hey Mitchell.” Dumas flops onto the stool beside him, spinning around once. Somehow the good major is already a bit buzzed despite spending no time in the pub. “Why don’t you come out with me, Reyes, and Morton?”

Follows the major’s gesture to the door where the two privates stand waiting, a little impatient. Morton checks his watch and Reyes punches his arm, saying something harshly. “As much as I’d love to see what you guys actually get up to, I can’t. I promised Vala I’d wait for her here.”

“So? Ditch the skirt.” Dumas shrugs, his words bumbling from underneath a thick moustache. “Look I know you two are old friends or some shit, but doesn’t it piss you off to know you’re never going to get anywhere with her?”

“The only place I want to go with her is back to the SGC.” To his bedroom, where she can watch old reruns of Night Court while stretching her hand back to hold his while he puts on his fucking old man glasses and reads through three trees worth of the Jacksons’ mission reports. Dumas raises a bushy eyebrow, too dense or too drunk to understand his meaning. “She’s one of my oldest friends.”

Dumas slams his hand down on the counter and the weary bartender reluctantly pours the major what might be the equivalent of a tumbler of whiskey. “So, you don’t want to fuck her?”

“I’m sorry—what?”

“She’s a female, one of the only ones we’ve got. I’ll admit there are times when she does that thing with her legs that I think about it.”

Don’t ask, don’t do it, Dumas is baiting and it’s only going to get worse—“what thing?” The reluctance in his voice is almost embarrassing.

“Walking.” Dumas grins, thick moustache fluffing and glistening with ‘whiskey’.

“I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened.” He leans in close and can definitely smell more alcohol on Dumas’s breath then a single glass of whiskey. “You should leave now.”

The major gets a sort of smirk wrinkled up the side of his face, and probably dimmed by the alcohol, decides to lean closer, matching his threat. “Hit a soft spot, did I?”

“No, but I might.” Copies the same smirk and pulls back just in time as she enters the pub, black t-shirt and rocking her BDU pants. Dumas is right about one thing, her walk is sexy as hell.

“Cameron.” Her bright smile hits him, making him grin. “Major Dumbass”

“How many times I gotta tell you, you dumb alien bitch, that the name is Dumas.”

He sort of stares in shock, half-numb in surprised at the disrespect, and half-infuriated that the words are directed at her.

“Oh, but your Tau’ri words are so big and hard to pronounce.” Her hand drifts over his shoulders, the plain black t-shirt he can wear in peace while not worrying about being confused for one of the Jacksons.

“I’ll give up something big and hard—”

“Leave now, Dumas.”

“It’s okay, darling.” She piles both her hands against his shoulder and pulls a huge shit-eating grin. “I doubt whatever he has is neither big nor hard.”

Dumas mumbles some more choice phrases under her breath and she says something in a dialect of Goa’uld. When the major turns back she waggles her fingers at him.

“Well, so much for a common ground of respect.”

“Oh, he just gets a bit insolent when he’s been drinking.” She spins in her chair just for fun and taps him on the shoulder. “Tomorrow he’ll have forgotten all about this and be delightfully without a personality again.”

“What did you say to him.”

“That’s not important.”

“Vala, what did you say?”

“Well, it’s impolite for me to repeat it in the presence of a woman, and since I’ll always be here, I doubt you’ll ever know.” She stops spinning grabbing hold of the counter and smiling softer at him. “Now then, are you going to buy me a drink or will I be forced to die of dehydration.”

He sighs and raises two fingers at the bartender who nods and readies two glasses. From what he understands there’s only one type of alcohol on this side of the planet, and it’s not the greatest. “How was the next chapter of Harry Potter?”

She grabs the glass as soon as it’s set before her and takes a decent sip. “Mmm, I’ve no idea, darling, I had a nap.”

Usually that admission would make him chuckle, because he knows her so well, knows what her napping pose looks like and as much as he’d like to picture her tucked delicately under the covers like the princess he calls her, he knows she was spread-eagle over the comforter, boots still on, probably drooling a bit. He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t say anything, just tosses back the liquor that has a distinctly bitter, rough taste while watching a few other people, all men, sit at the counter next to them.

“Something the matter?”

“It’s nothing—” Raises his hand for a refill, and there’s something very depressing about binge drinking on a planet beside his girlfriend.

“It’s something because you’ve ordered another drink.” Forgets how well she knows him too. The gray area of addiction in his family. His brother on and off the wagon since high school and he never talks about it with her because he partly thinks she won’t understand. Can’t accept the things he doesn’t want to say to her, so she prods and prods until he ends up shouting them. “Usually after one we’re good to go to bed. I want to go to bed. So, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Why do you have to egg Dumas on?”

“I do not egg him on.”

“You literally called him Major Dumbass when you saw him.”

“Yes, and I’m sure he was saying absolutely delightful things about me.” He ignores the next drink set in front of him and narrows his eyes at her. “I wasn’t snooping, I could tell by your face, it was starting to go red.”

Swigs back the drink and watches the somewhat playful expression wipe from her face, smile disappears, and she borrows his glare. “Just because he—”

“Why is he allowed a free pass, but in knowing what he’s implicit in, I’m not?” She drops down from the stool and steadies the swinging seat with her hand.

“It’s just how the army is—”

“Yes, well.” She’s flustered, her eyes not meeting him which means he fucked up. There’s an almost invisible pink creeping into her cheeks and she rifles through her pocket until she produces enough money to cover her drink. He fucked up bad. “The army’s ‘boys will be boys’ attitude may be perfectly acceptable to you, but I expect to be treated with a modicum of respect.”

“Honey—”

Tries to apologize but he’s interrupted by one of the guys who sat beside her at the bar. He’s a big guy, like Teal’c big, with more muscles and hair then he will ever have. The guy says something, he doesn’t remember the exact words because he’s more focused on untangling the mess he made with Vala, but her face falls, eyes darting to the ground and it pisses him off. She doesn’t say anything, just tries to duck away from him, from the guy, from both of them because she’s obviously done for the night, but when she shimmies from between the stools the guy slaps her on the ass.

Hard.

Sees him wind up like he’s going to chuck  a baseball and instead the palm of his hand ends up on her ass. She lets out a small squeak, and before he can even register her expression, he’s tackling the guy.

*

Ends up with some bruised up ribs, one hell of a shiner, and a missing tooth—not one of the front ones so it’s not that much of a loss—they can easily replace it back at the SGC, but he hasn’t been in that type of fight since he was in middle school, leaving the cafeteria and getting jumped by three eighth graders.

Three against one is never a fair fight.

That is until his space pirate of a girlfriend gets the upper hand by smashing a stool against one of their heads and whipping her sidearm out so fast they don’t have time to blink.

“Boys will be boys and you boys are idiots.” Shakes her head with a tsk. “You pay the poor barman for the stool I’ve just had to destroy.”

They slap cash down on the counter with a grumble, their friend still unconscious on the floor. “Now you apologize to me for touching me when I did _not_ ask for it.”

They both mumble the same half-hearted apology, their eyes not meeting hers, shifting to the floor with the full course of shame she had only moments before. His head still reeling, and it takes him a moment before he actually understands what’s happening.

“You apologize to Cameron as well for beating him so badly.”

“Thanks, Honey.” A little drool drips from his mouth through his new tooth hole and onto the floor as he climbs his way up a stool to stand.

They never apologize to him, instead she directs them out and they leave their friend knocked out on the floor. “I’m terribly sorry about disturbing your establishment.” When she addresses the bartender he only watches her with big eyes because her gun is still cocked and loaded. “Oh, sorry.”

Somehow, they manage to hobble up to his room, his room because if Dumas or the guys search for him tonight and can’t find him until they check her room, it’ll be worse than a scandal. She sits him on the side of the bed and readies the first aid kit before him, dabbing at the cut on his cheek and the one on his lip with a bit of antiseptic and he hisses.

“Oh, I’m sorry darling, did that sting?” the words are soothing, but her tone is indifferent

She drops the gauze before cracking an icepack for his eye and pops up on the bed beside him. “I should have known you could take care of yourself, okay?” Hopes it counts as an apology, really doesn’t know what went wrong, but when he thinks about the expression she had, where her eyes wouldn’t lift from the floor, it gets him angry every time. 

“Well I egg men on enough to know.”

“Vala—”

She pinches his lips between her fingers. “Hush. Just tell me you’re sorry.”

When the pressure releases he takes the icepack from her. “I’m sorry.”

“Now tell me that I had nothing to do with it.”

“You didn’t egg anyone on.”

“Good.” She nudges his knee with hers and leans her cheek in against his shoulder. “Now tell me I’m pretty.”

Knows that signal and drops the icepack, his chilly hands grabbing her cheeks and she shouts out in surprise, a better squeak than from an unwanted slap on the ass. “You’re gorgeous.”

She kisses him first, tasting the blood and alcohol in his mouth and poking her tongue into the space where his first molar used to be.

*

They arrive back at the SGC the next morning, Dumas and his boys staying until the evening to tie up the loose ends they left. She doesn’t say much to him as they walk through the gate, but when he glances over to her, she’s beaming at him.

“What?”

Shakes her head, their conversation cut off by the approaching Jacksons who meet them at the bottom of the ramp.

“How did meeting the archduke go?”

Drops his bag on the floor and stretches his back out. His ribs ache a bit from the fight, but more so from the sex. She definitely did not go easy on him. “Didn’t go at all Sunshines.”

“You’re kidding me?!”

“How could you miss the luncheon with the archduke!?”

Before he answers, Vala sticks herself to his side and he’s mildly aware it’s inappropriate, but it’s not their type of intimacy, more so the action for show. Her arms hug tightly around his one and she holds him in place when he tries to wiggle free. “Cameron defended my honor in a pub last night.”

“Is that so?”

“How noble of him.”

“No it’s true,” she nuzzles his arm, but her grip on him fades enough, on purpose, to let him draw away. “This big brisling bear of a man decided, unprovoked, to slap my very defined posterior.”

Doesn’t understand why she’s doing this until the Jacksons answer, “Sure Vala.”

Daniel Two crosses his arms. “Unprovoked, right.”

“I swear, I did nothing to—”

“Enough Vala.”

“What happened with—”

Watches as they blame her and she sends him a look through side eyes, the look telling him about boys being boys and this is what she gets from it. “She’s telling the truth. That guy hit her hard.”

“Oh, well then.”

“Good job, Mitchell.”

The Jacksons grow bored with a subject that’s not about the political standards of the planet or relating to the same Clava shit they’ve been working on for the last three years. He stands, a little dumbfounded, watching them go, just how they glossed over it entirely.

“I’m sorry.” Doesn’t look at her, can’t because it might give them away, his face a little close to breaking because he was beaten, then had wild, amazing sex and no sleep and is now learning how awful their situation is for her, a woman in a boys world. An alien on a planet of Tau’ri men where she’s not even allowed the freedom to leave the mountain on her own.

She doesn’t say anything back, just snakes her hand into his jacket pocket quickly. Her pickpocketing skills are unmatched, and she does it within the blink of an eye, he knows it because he knows her. Knows her well and sometimes wishes he didn’t know as much.

When she leaves the gate room, he shoves his hand into his pocket and his fingers roll over the ridges of his molar.


	22. PTSD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to KNSkns for giving me advice on writing this chapter.

Everything was going so well that he should have known.

The Jacksons’ main goal is analyzing the fabled housekey Vala managed to bring back, the devoted almost all their work day and overtime hours to dissecting the symbols and trying to make any sense of the translations in the context of the Clava thing. With Sam running Atlantis, Woosley having been permanently removed and now sticking close to the IOA, and Teal’c still playing clean up to the Cyclone Planet—every his communications back through his words grow heavier, deeper, and shorter, it left him and Vala galivanting around with SG-7 and P3J-505 trying to set up political ties in other cities, particularly in the capital, which was very far away from the museum they had sort of robbed.

Loved being back in the field, but more so loved being with her. Would sneak into her room at the inn, slip between the sheets next to her and pull her body against his and fall asleep with a familiar ease. If they were camping out, she and him took the same shift, aware that any of their teammates could rouse. She would chance leaning her head against his shoulder and he would play with her fingers. They would talk in whispers, sometimes about the missions, about prospects, sometimes about more serious things, their pasts, their futures.

He kept thinking about how stunning a certain blue gem would look on her hand as he traced her ring finger.

Sometimes they have to be undercover, and they pretend to be husband and wife in order to gain entrance into particular parties. She wears the same black dress from his high school reunion and he dances with her, pressing her closely with a hand on her back. She’s as graceful dancing as she is avoiding lasers and triggers. He spins her, watching her dress fan out to her thighs and she gravitates back towards him, her head nestling against his cheek and against her ear his lips motion the words ‘I love you’. She picks up on it because by now she’d have to be blind and deaf not to. She doesn’t say it back, but she rubs her cheek against his and sighs.

Then he’s back in command running plays for each team member, for each team, with over fifteen teams, with five members each. He’s so tired he doesn’t even bother doing the math. He knows he hasn’t seen her in almost a week and he’s starting to get grumbly because of it. A two years ago it would’ve been the lack of sex, but now it’s the lack of her. Just getting up in the morning and wading through a floor full of clothing, trying to find something clean, not being able to finish a whole plate of nachos, not having to submit paperwork for signing her out, it’s thrown him out of routine and if there’s one thing he survives on other than her, it’s routine.

Teal’c is acting commanding officer of SG-7 because Dumas not only got leave without pay for drunken shenanigans, but rumor has it that he also managed to knock up his babysitter in between missions. After a week of waiting for it, Teal’c finally walkies him and informs him that Vala’s been captured. His heart jumps, but she’s been on and off that planet for the last six months. So has he.  SG-7 as a whole has been there on and off for the last eighteen months. She can also break out of most prisons so he’s sure within the hour they’ll walkie him and tell him everything is okay.

Teal’c does walkie him requesting for a mission extension.

He okays it and asks about Vala.

Teal’c goes radio silent.

*

“Shouldn’t you be off micromanaging someone else?” Daniel One asks over his shoulder, he’s wearing those glasses that flip down different lens to make stuff bigger and he’s never looked more like a certifiable dork.

“Can’t. SG-7 isn’t back yet.” He picks up what looks like a Faberge egg, it’s light and wobbles in his hand. “What does this do?”

“Don’t touch that.” Daniel two snatches it from his palm and places it delicately back into a holder.

“Seems like you boys are getting along okay now.”

Two glares at him, before tracing ancient writing on a blown-up picture of a temple wall, while One scoots to a whiteboard and begins writing down a sequence of numbers, then translates them into a planetary gate code. “We’re still in the process of determining which one of us is the original.”

“And how’s that going for you rays of sunshine?” Pushes himself up to sit on the edge of the table but lands on one of their glasses. He grins cheekily before they burst into a full-scale Jackson explosion.

“Mitchell—”

“Are you kidding me?”

“What are you even doing here anyw—”

“Just get out and go back to—”

“Just because Vala is—”

“You two deserve each other.”

They both yank him from the table, ushering him with pushes and grunts outside of their lab door before closing and locking it. He has the pass, he can easily pop back in to shit disturb, but it’s not worth it without her getting the glee he does.

He’ll tell her about it when she gets back.

*

She does get back.

Three days later.

She’s not the same.

The people who got her when Jackson took her on that friendly dinner with the pretense of getting romantic got her again. The same Clava bullshit. Grabbed her from the team in a market place while they were shopping for supplies and information. Had her for four days and it looks like they had her for years.

He’s in a meeting with General O’Neill, sent to watch over him like Super Nanny and make him double guess himself without saying a word, and Woolsey. Apparently, a plan is in motion that will make most aliens on Earth literal illegal aliens unless the proper paperwork is filled out through the proper channels. The whole thing seems stupid with advancements offered to them by aliens, but it’s not really a concern because the two aliens he knows and cares about work for the military.

Then his phone rings with the news of her return and he doesn’t try to hide his relief as he bounces up from his seat, interrupting Woolsey to tell him she made it back safely and he’s needed downstairs. O’Neill definitely sees through it, but he doesn’t give two shits, he’s out of the room before anyone gets out another full word.

*

By the time he makes it down to the lab she’s gone.

“Where’d she go?” Asks Lam as she sits straight-backed on a stool typing up notes.

“Who?”

“Vala.” He does a spin taking in the room, a few officers in the beds to the far left, but most of the them are empty. “Did you already discharge her?”

“Oh,” Lam scoffs and rearranges her notes, “she discharged herself.”

“What do you mean?”

“She left against medical advice. Said she was fine.”

“Was she.”

“Cam, you know I can’t answer that.”

*

She’s not in his room, he doesn’t know why he checks there first, but if the tables were flipped he’d have gone to her room to wait for her. He runs down another flight of stairs and swipes his pass at her door finding her bent over her vanity dabbing gloss onto a big ol’ fat tire of a lip.

“Vala.”

“There you are, darling.” Twists the gloss shut and grins at him. It’s big and bright and she looks like shit. Her lip is split down the center and scabbed over, and her shiner is new, red and swollen but the bruise isn’t bad yet.

“Are you okay?” Asks as she grabs his hand and snakes it around her waist, drifting into him. He drops his face to her neck and she’s cold. Very cold. “I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“This is nothing.” One of her hands, her non-dominant, sort of smacks him in the cheek as she tries to soothe him. He goes to hold her other hand, but finds it burdened by a thick cast.

“Are you okay?” Asks again while her lips ghost over the side of his neck in separate and distinct kisses. He can feel the scab on her split.  “I didn’t know it was this bad, I thought it was just a prison, that you could do what you usually do and—”

“Cameron, I assure you, I’m fine.” The cold hand on the side of his face a and a hard cast that he draws his fingers over say something else.

“What happened.”

“Athena and her boys got a hold of me, just as last time. How a system lord still has so much—”

“What did she do?” His hands skim her face, tracing over the cut in her lips before she dives into a kiss. It’s harsh and wet and it must be killing her. “Vala—” hushes him with her mouth and he finds himself falling into the kiss. “Vala—tell me what happened.”

“Later.” Continues kissing him and her hand creeps up his shirt, tickling over his stomach.

“Vala.” Retrieves her good hand by the wrist and then threads his fingers with hers. His other hand pushes her back just an inch, holding her in place. “I just want to—”

“If you want to help, kiss me Cameron.” She doesn’t pull away or press forward but is just tight against him. Her eye will be swollen tomorrow.

It’s not the time to be doing this, it’s the time for ice packs and heating pads and tons of pain relievers and telling him what the fuck happened so he knows how he should help her and who he has to break in half.

But she’s here, relatively safe and a somewhat unhurt and those three nights when he couldn’t sleep, trained not to toss onto that side of the bed away. “Believe me, baby, there’s nothing that I want more than—”

“Thinking of you got me through it.” Her eyes flit away like she’s revealed a horrible secret about herself. After hearing about Qetesh, about Ver Isca, about Fierenze, there’s not much she could tell him to make him balk now. “I knew if I could get to you, I’d be safe.”

They have sex. He has to remind himself to go slow even after she tries to speed things up, even after she nips at his earlobe and his neck trying to get him to be a little harsher with his mouth, his hands, but he can’t because there’s bruising blotched underneath his splayed fingers across her stomach and all he wants to do is kiss it better, but that does nothing and means nothing. She tenses, not in the usual way, when she comes and he has to ignore the tears in the corners of her eyes.

*

Lam wanted her on bed rest, she refused. Gave her a low dose of antidepressants which she tossed into the trash, which he scavenged and stowed away for later. They broke her wrist, cracked a rib but she says she barely feels it anymore. She can’t use a Goa’uld ring to heal herself because they healed her broken bones and then broke them again, her body is used to the pulse at this point, by the time she’s able to use one on herself she’ll be fully healed.

She’s on leave for the week until she can be cleared by psych. He and Landry told her the doctor was away until the end of the week to give her time to heal, but the next morning he expected to wake up in bed beside her, she was already up.

He finds her in the Jacksons’ lab, they’re working back to back again dressed in the same outfit and maybe Jackson likes having another ego to battle his own even if it is his own. She’s perched on a stool at the back of the room, scrolling through pictures on her digital camera retrieved from the planet. Her right arm hangs at her side, cast heavy.

“Princess.” He grins at her and she does the same, her one eye is swollen shut. “Jacksons.”

He gets caught up in some argument with the Daniels at some point and she slips out. He doesn’t see her until that night when he goes to her room and finds her sitting on her bed watching an old sitcom rerun and drinking from a half empty bottle of whiskey.

It makes him uncomfortable.

“Where’d you score the hooch?”

“It’s a military base, Cameron. There isn’t very much to do here at night.”

“You mean before I kissed you?” Sidles up next to her and she stretches her arms above her head, the liquid in the bottle sloshes, but never dribbles out.

Her body is still lithe as it sways against his, and when he rubs down her back, he swears he can hear her purr. “Very true, except I kissed you.”

“Uhh, no Princess.” The bottle is loose in her hand and he motions for it. She glances at it, then at him and chuckles, relinquishing it easily. “I definitely kissed you.”

“Noooo,” she stresses and then hiccups and if it weren’t for the reason why, she’d be the cutest drunk. “I got you right in the middle of your sentence about how we wouldn’t work.”

“I remember that speech.” They’d been dangerously flirting for months starting with when a bomb exploded, and he reacted by tackling her out of the way of flying debris. Something about her body, even in clunky in BDU gear, felt right underneath him. Other missions made their friendship tense, their emotions obvious to them. Her bartering for him on a planet where he was captured to be used as a slave. Him shooting some asshole in the head the minute he held a gun to hers.

They’d been skirting around the subject for months and when she finally brought it up the army boy in him told him it was against protocol. He was team leader, technically her boss, though God, he would never say those words to her, and he already worried about her enough without—

Then he saw her face, and the way it fell. Not on a huge scale, a barely noticeable flinch like her heart had actually been crushed by his words and he never wanted her to look at him that way again and in that second he made the decision, stopped talking, stopped letting the rules and routine dictate his life and he bent and kissed her. He could taste the surprise on her and when she kissed him back, it just felt right.

“I remember stopping the speech to kiss you.”

“Stop the speech and kiss me now.” Grabs the collar of his t-shirt and reclines back on her bed, the tv flashing white light over her bare legs.

He stands the bottle against her bedside table and runs a hand from her shin to her hip. “You wouldn’t be using me as a coping method—” his hand scoops under her lower back sliding into the band of her panties. “Would you, baby?”

“You’re not my coping method, Cameron.” Kisses his throat and tugs again at his shirt. “You’re my comfort. You’re my safety. You’re everything I care about.”

He’s got to do something with that ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: While the PTSD isn't fully flushed out in this chapter, it will be prevalent in future chapters.


	23. Two Daniels (Again)

They’re finally doing something with the time controlling chicken foot.

It’s been sitting in the Jacksons’ lab for months—they still share a lab and are adamant to do as little work as possible in there together. He’s tried having them on separate shifts but whichever one gets the night shift—despite them both only sleeping about four hours each a night—complains that it isn’t fair. Then he tried having them in different areas, not as far as Atlantis, but separating them and sticking them on different teams, which had the illusion of being a good idea until both Jacksons backed out at the last second.

Then he issued an ultimatum, either work together in the lab or he would rotate them on shifts whether they like it or not. For the last few days they’ve been plugging away and today they finally got to the chicken foot.

He wishes they never did.

He’s training with Teal’c when it happens. Smacking away at him in their fake sparring session. Sometimes they use weapons, but today they’re both too tired, Teal’c finally getting back in from the Cyclone Planet where they still treat him like crap.

And last night he got into a fight with Vala.  

Another fight that ended up encompassing all their previous fights; why couldn’t she be more vocal with her feelings, why couldn’t he be less protective, why after almost six years did she still need to be signed out of the mountain. Then she questioned why new SG members were making more money than her, she broke into the accounting office after hours to check or hacked the system she never really clarified. When he replied it didn’t matter because he would take care of her, she exploded fingers curling and saying nothing, just marching out of her own room.

Against his better judgement, he drove home, honestly the fight was exhausting physically and emotionally and maybe a little time apart would do them well. Except she didn’t feel the same way because she’s stuck on the base. So when phoned him up at his house to argue with him more, she sort of broke down at the end. Again, against his better judgement, he stayed and slept the night at home and he hasn’t seen her all day. No one has, assumes she’s hiding away in the lab under the pretense of helping the Jacksons.

Teal’c manages to land a boxing gloved punch to the side of his face and he stumbles back two steps. “Colonel Mitchell, you appear distracted. Do you which to borrow my outer auditory organ?”

“God, no.” Holds his hand out as Teal’c takes a step closer, keeping him at bay a bit. “Just a lot of things on my mind Big Guy.”

“Is this about stargate team seven speaking badly of you?”

“It’s just hard being the boss some—what?”

“Then is it the Dr Daniel Jacksons?”

“No go back to SG-7.”

“Well, Major Dumas is returning to as team leader and his words when you’re concerned are less than—”

The reverberations of an explosion shake through the room, rattle the various weapons hanging from the wall. Might be anything, an outside attack, an inside attack, an earthquake. They jog to the door and follow the flow of soldiers until running into  familiar face.

“Rodriguez, any idea what’s going on?”

“That dude’s lab—”

Groans into his hand and makes a mental note to add proper military addressing to Rodriguez’s training package for next week. “What ‘dude’s lab? There’s like eighty dudes and three dudettes.”

“The one who has like another one of him.”

“The Jacksons.” It makes sense. They were probably running the artifact under tests like Sam would’ve done if she wasn’t still running Atlantis or Lee would if he hadn’t extended his leave because he and his wife got food poisoning on their date night.

“You want me to help out? I could—”

“Go to your station, find your team leader and do what they say.” Turns down the next corridor that appears, running in the direction of the lab.

*

The corridor is already sectioned off when they get there. Medical hasn’t arrived yet, but the ventilation units are off so the hallway is smoky as hell. He nods to the guard and passes through the yellow tape, Teal’c following him, and tries not to breathe in too heavily. Should probably start to shout for the Jacksons, but with the blast consuming the lab they wouldn’t hear him anyway.

Expects to find the white doors shut with charred stains and smoke slowly draining from the lab, and the Jacksons blaming each other in the hallway. Instead the doors are blown clean off, black smoke billowing freely into the hallway and unbalanced shuffling coming from within.

“Jacksons?” Stands even with the wall and yells through the open door, whatever caused the explosion could easily cause a second one especially if they’re rooting around in there for a certain chicken foot.

A head pops up, but it’s not a Jackson. “Cameron,” she beckons him into the charred innards of the lab that is still on fire. “Come help me look for them.”

“Vala, get the hell out of there.” Shouts back, then turns away from the door, when he catches Teal’c’s eyes.

“No.” Despite disagreeing she plucks her way through the debris closer to the doorway. She’s covered in soot and has a cut freely bleeding from her temple. “If they’re down there then I need—”

“You need to get out of the goddamn room now. You’re breaking protocol, you’re in an active explosion site.”

“I need to find them, Cameron.” She’s yelling because she can’t hear and she’s crying out of misunderstanding, out of confusion like she was on the phone last night. The tears leave clean tracks on her sooty cheeks. “Why won’t you help me find them?”

“Because we have soldiers trained to do that.”

“You don’t need special training to—” She circles closer to the door and he’s got his chance. Reaches out yanking her through the doorway by the collar of her shirt as she shouts in surprise then in protest.

Spins her away from the doorway, as the search and rescue team arrives and without a breath head into the lab with face gear, fire retardant uniforms, and oxygen tanks. But she fights at him, claws at his shirt until he grabs both her wrists. When he tries to calm her with coos and convince her the rescue team is better suited for the job she only fights more, bucks against him, trying to knee her way out.

“Hey. Hey.” Shakes her hard enough to get her attention, hard enough to get Teal’c’s, who he’s fully aware is watching him and waiting in the wings. “There’s a goddamn rescue team Vala, you need medical, just settle down and let everyone do their job.” The chastising doesn’t work, it rarely does unless, ironically, it’s from one of the Jacksons. She fights against him more and he’s done. Steps back from her, releases her arms. “Fine. You really want to go back in there to look for them? Go for it.”

Her eyes tear over, not the confusion tears, not from misunderstanding or fear or even anger directed at him. He’s only seen her look like this once, when he yelled at her about Daniel once, when he told her how much it hurts to see any team member sacrifice themselves, but he held her steady and made her listen to his harsh words and her eyes danced with tears because she was so disappointed in him.

“Wouldn’t you go back for me?”

“I want this corridor fully blocked off, no one within thirty feet of the lab. Someone light a fire under medical’s ass and get them down here.” Doesn’t answer her because she should know, and he should too really. Forgets how close her and the Jacksons are, they’re probably the closest thing she has to a best friend. They rib each other, but half the time he catches her in their lab everyone is laughing. He stares directly at her and sidesteps the answer. “Teal’c do not let her go back into that lab.”

*

They don’t find the Jacksons. They don’t find the chicken foot. They don’t find a whole hell of a lot aside from all the mints on Vala’s desk melded into one giant candy, and a charred picture of the Jacksons’ wife.

He sits at his desk with his head in his hands. Called Sam to let her know that the Jacksons were missing, that they were presumed dead but there was no evidence of bodies among the fire. Tried calling Vala’s room phone but he got no answer and he didn’t want to be so hard on her earlier, but she doesn’t listen. She always cares for everyone else, and throws herself in front of the bullet, or down the supergate, or runs to the dragon, or blasts her gun to draw attention away.

“Colonel Mitchell.” Teal’c stands in his doorway, his arms clasped tightly behind his back.

“Hey Teal’c,” it’s muffled as he washes a hand over his face, he’s still collecting bits of grime and ash from being near the lab.

“The rescue team are finished their preliminary examination of the lab and have discovered no remnant of nuclear radiation.” Teal’c takes a few steps inside, stopping beside one of the chairs angled towards his desk but doesn’t sit down. “They still have not found a trace of either Dr. Daniel Jackson.”

“Well that’s good in a way, it means that they could’ve gotten out of there and gone—somewhere else.” Drops his pen and rubs his head against because he’s getting one hell of a headache. No food, not too much water, trying to contact the right people to deal with the incident. Informing Landry in Washington who’s sending O’Neill back to help sort shit out. Telling Sam in the most fake hopeful voice he’s ever used.

“Indeed.”

“Any secondary injuries?”

As if Teal’c can read between the lines he gives out the information. “Vala Mal Doran received sterile strips for the contusion on her head. Dr. Lam also checked her lung capacity which was normal.”

Stands from his desk, clicking the light off. “Well that’s good.”

“She is unwell, Colonel Mitchell.”

He stops in his tracks hand still on the jacket draped over the back of his chair. “Unwell how?”

“She is not talking. She is not eating. She simply exists.”

“She’s in shock?”

Teal’c nods his head once and he expects the somber smile, but it doesn’t come. “I believe you actions earlier exacerbated the situation.”

“Teal’c I had to clear the field. You know—”

“While I understand protocol and would have done the same to draw Vala Mal Doran from within the lab, I would have used a gentler technique.” The words are emotionless, but he can sense the blame. “If both Dr. Daniel Jacksons have perished, she has lost her family.” Teal’c pauses until he looks him in the eye and adds, “we all have.”

*

He checks her room, but when the doors slide open, the light from the hall revels only an empty room. There’s dishes on her side table from the dinner she ate alone last night, and a few balled tissues on the floor and he never really pictured her side of the argument in such a clear way but the half-eaten cherry pie gives him a bad aftertaste. Her pajamas, yoga pants and a silky tank top, are laid out on her bed for quick access. Wanted the day over before it even got worse.

Locks the door behind him and maybe he should try the cafeteria. She might be picking at a fresher piece of pie, but Teal’c had said she didn’t want to eat, and he’s never known Vala to turn down food. 

Runs by the med bay just in time to catch the shift switch for on-call doctors. Lam stands at the main station, rambling out file info to Rix who is still sipping on a coffee and waking up for her graveyard shift. When they notice him, they stop talking.

“Sorry Docs, didn’t mean to intrude, I just needed to know if anyone is in critical condition from the blast.” He hangs by the door and lets his question drift through the space between them. Really wants to know about Vala, but secret relationships don’t stand up to a hypocritical oath.

“Just some people burned, a few bruises, some needed stiches.” She hands Rix the final chart but turns back to him. “Did they find either Daniel yet?”

He shakes his head but can’t leave them on a down note. “Rescue said there was no signs of their bodies, charred or uncharred which bodes well for Sam’s ‘other dimension’ theory.”

They accept it at his word, neither want to challenge him or the weird shit he has to deal with, just like how when Lam says someone’s got to be put in a coma for a few days, he doesn’t give a second opinion.

*

He knew where she would be. Knew it this entire time, but really didn’t want to have to go there, because he’s not supposed to be there, and she’s definitely not supposed to be there. He strolls by the lab crime scene and the guard gives him a curtesy nod.

“Mind if I borrow your flashlight real quick, private?”

The private unclips the light from his belt arsenal and reaches to hand it to him, pausing briefly. “Mind if I ask why, Sir?”

“Just scoping the area for any alien space pirates who might be breaking protocol again.” Scans the lights over remnants of ancient artifacts, over the large closet still locked and face down on the sooty ground, over both the metal tables that have actually melted from the force. 

But there’s no sign or sound of Vala.

With an exhale, he hands the light back to the private. The Jacksons disappeared in the lab. Was Vala in the lab at the time of the explosion, or just nearing it? Soldiers and staff who were in the hallway and in adjacent rooms needed medical attention, and she had that cut on her head. So how close was she? Is she in danger of disappearing too?

He’s exhausted and wants nothing more than to drive home to his bed, put on the Late Night show and fall asleep with a beer, but that’s not how he works anymore. He left her last night because he thought it was for the best. Now she’s lost not one but two Jacksons, and Teal’c said it was like losing family.

He knows where she is.

*

Since the Jacksons are a regular part of his team again, his pass works on the door. Any place he might need to get into, like labs or dorms, he’s allowed full access too. They don’t know about it, and it makes him feel like a bit of a creep.

But she’s there, sitting on Daniel One’s bed. Not on the edge or the end, not cross-legged, but with her back up against his pillows and her legs stretched out before her, her bare feet pointing upwards and anything but relaxed. If she notices him come in she doesn’t respond, just keeps staring at something, which he assumes is Daniel’s television, but there is no TV, she’s just staring off into space.

He remembers how he was when he lost her.

When he lost her over and over again for months on end, and he told himself tomorrow would be a do-over, but then feared what if that day was the final day. What if she was undone forever. The pain welled in his head, behind his eyes and every time a tear slid out it felt like fire and did nothing to fix the way he was feeling. Eventually his nose stuffed up and he started breathing through his mouth which lead to sobbing, which lead to exhaustion as he wept over her bullet riddled body again and again and again.

She’s at the exhaustion stage, he can tell. She doesn’t make a move as he approaches and her big blue eyes aren’t shiny with tears or dancing in the low glow of the bedside light. They’re dull and dark and red as hell, it looks like she has hay fever, her nose all red and wet. Her lips cracked just a bit as she breathes through her mouth because the sobbing has clogged her up.

“Hi honey,” greets her the same way he usually does, maybe the normalcy will snap her out, but her eyes stare straight ahead. When he pushes himself into her line of vision, she doesn’t focus on him. Her eyes get duller, she travels further away. “Vala?”

What should he say after this happened on the coattails of both of them treating the other like crap. Would he even want to be comforted by her if the tables were turned? Knows he would, but she works differently. Despite the anchors she’s casted out in the last few years, when she feels vulnerable she doesn’t run to Teal’c or Sam or a Daniel or him. She tries to deal with it herself. Tries to subvert it herself and end up sacrificed in the mean time. 

So he does what she needs him to do. To sit on the edge of the bed, none of his body touching hers and wait until she has something to say to him, wait until she’s ready for that human interaction again.

Two hours pass with only blinking and breathing. His thigh is killing him and his knuckles kneading down on the muscles is what breaks her, what brings her attention back.

“You don’t need to be here.” Her stance is exactly the same, legs and arms unmoving, but her eyes have cycled to him.

“You don’t either.” The angle of him talking to her burns through the muscles in his lower back. “The Jacksons aren’t dead. They’ll be back.”

“I know.” Not a gloat, or said with sass, just a sigh from her mouth. Her skin is still mottled with soot that she barely washed off. Her temple as a stark white bandage sticking to it and it contrasts with everything in the room. “I’m waiting for a sign.”

“How do you know I’m not the sign?”

“Because you can leave now.” Her lips press than part, like she wants to explain something to him, but doesn’t have the strength or patience or—“Please leave.”

Wants to tell her that he never should have left her yesterday, that they should’ve talked like adults about this secret, very adult relationship. How his home doesn’t feel like home unless she’s there, and how he likes going to the flea market with her on Sunday mornings because she picks out the weirdest crap for decorating the extra room and he loves it.

He loves her.

But it’s not time to go into a monologue about their relationship, or how when he’s away from her he feels different and a little incomplete. It’s about her, and her two best friends disappearing in a horrible explosion and how she’s going to have to live with that hole in her life for the next prolonged period.

Vala has many qualities, some good, some not, but for those she cares about, for those she loves, she is unquestionably loyal.

*

Leaves her in Daniels One’s dorm and wonders if she ever switched between the two rooms. Thinks about going back to her room in case she does for the night, but he knows that’s a far stretch, that she’s most likely going to pass out on Jackson’s bed and wake up when he goes to find her tomorrow morning.

So he retires to his own bedroom, shucks his clothing and crawls under the covers of his bed, his mind still circling stories of where the Jacksons could’ve made it off to and what it has to do with a gross time controlling chicken foot.

*

On the third day he starts to wonder if she’s ever coming out of the dorm. He hasn’t tried talking to her again because he doesn’t know how she’s grieves, he’s never seen her grieve, doesn’t think anyone has. Even after Adria died, there was really no time for her to grieve before they went on board the Odyssey. She was all grins and jokes and prodding Daniel.

“Have you talked with Vala at all?” Sits across from Teal’c who doesn’t play footsie with him or remind him of the good ol’ high school days.

“I have not seen Vala Mal Doran since briefly after the laboratory detonated.”

“Should I go talk to her?” Pushes around the leftover cherry pie on his plate like it would draw her out from the woodwork.

Teal’c eyes dart up from where he steeps his teabag. “I do not think she would appreciate that at this time.”

“Then why don’t you go?”

“Because she has not asked me to.”

*

Fights wanting to go home, wanting to get off the base, wanting to see the moon and stars—not up close, wanting to see the sunrise and breathe natural air. Being cooped up in the base for this many days in a row, especially when there are no off-world missions giving an escape, is almost torture.

He went home without her the one night and this is the way she felt.

Stir crazy staring at the same reinforced wall corridors, while time dragged and nothing got lighter or darker with the trail of the sun. He went home without her, and he didn’t take her with him because he wanted to prove a point—no that’s not it either.

The Late Show title card flashes on his tv, and he sets what is technically a contraband beer on his side table. Has no idea who the guest is because it’s some snotty kid and falls asleep halfway through the opening monologue.

Wakes hours later to an infomercial flashing across his screen, but that’s not what woke him. All of them, all of SG-1 sleep featherlight as in the drop of a feather in the wind could rouse and ready them.

What he felt was her weight indent the other side of the bed.

She’s not laying down, she sits with her back to him, her hair half up half down, falling out of the updo she had it in the last time he saw her. She’s still wearing the same clothes, and it smells more like she’s been on a three-day mission.

Doesn’t speak first because he’s afraid anything he says will just send her off, she’ll disappear back into a Jacksons’ dorm and never come back out. Tries not to draw attention to himself, to stare at her because she can sense it, to breath too harsh or deep and alert her he’s awake just in case she says something she would only say to him when he’s asleep.

“They sent me away.” When she does speak, dyed blue like a ghost in the semidarkness only highlighted by infomercials, her voice almost doesn’t exist, it’s crusty and rasping and cried out.

“Who? Who sent you away?” Builds himself back up in the bed, his bare back leaning against the backboard.

“The Daniels.” He just wants her to look at him, to let him comfort her, to take her off this base where she won’t have to submerge herself in the accident or the blame. “They both demanded coffee of me, not in the usual way, frantic almost. They got me out of the lab so I wouldn’t be injured.”

“They care about you, Vala.” So close to just reaching a hand to her back, but Teal’c told him to wait, if she wanted to be comforted, she would come to him. “They’re coming back.”

“We were fighting.”

“Who? You and the Jacksons?”

“No.” Her head angles slightly towards him. “You and I.”

“Yeah.” The confidence in his voice is misplaced, it falters on his second pass. “Yeah, we were.”

“I don’t remember about what.” She turns, her arm supporting her body, her thigh balancing her, and her face is so despondent. The late time he saw her she held no emotion at all, and now her eyes have given up and he wants to cry for her. “It must not have been important.”

“Tell me what you need me to do.” Sits up, his arms resting on his knees, his hands, his fingers twitching to bridge the gap between them. “How can I make it better.” Doesn’t mean about the fight, but he kind of does. Doesn’t mean about abandoning her to go mad seven storeys underground, but a little bit so. Means about her loss, the emptiness she’s experiencing.

Answer him with a shrug and a roll of her lower lip, tucks it inward like she might burst again at any moment even though she’s damn near out of tears. “However you want to.” Flat palm presses into the buoyant mattress inches from him. “Nobody’s ever cared if I was grieving before.”

It’s not permission, but it’s permission enough. His hand covers hers and it’s like touching snow. Soft and cold and a little bit wet from sweat or tears.  Tugs a bit, more like directs, and she lets him guide her across the bed to him. She angles her head against his shoulder, gazing up at him in the darkness, as he strokes her arm. “We’re going to get them back.”

“Please don’t make promises, darling. I can’t hold you to them.”

And he knows why he left her here almost a week ago to suffer in silence. Why he removed her from the gift of the moon and the stars and the sun over a few harsh words they both growled at each other.

It was because he wanted to hurt her.

Wanted her to hurt the way she did when she said the words she did out of defense.

“We’re going to get them back.”

*

“It’s too much food.”

She refuses to leave the base, even for a late-night jeep ride down the street for some McDonald’s breakfast, or for a stroll to the family park a few blocks away. Won’t leave in case the Jacksons decide to rematerialize and he’s tried to use the logic of ‘maybe they’ll rematerialize outside somewhere’. But her guilt is stronger than his, she can hold a grudge against herself unrivaled even by the Jacksons after she’s destroyed countless artifacts and stolen most of their credit cards.

“Just the pie then.” Pushes the crumbly crust cherry pie towards her, à la mode of course, and her eyes light up for the first time in a week. “It’s the breakfast of champions.”

After sleeping beside him for almost six hours, and then alone in his bed for four, when he came to check on her, her stomach growl was loud enough to interrupt him. Managed to coerce her into a shower while he grabbed her a meal. Grabbed fruits and pizza and mac and cheese and of course the pie.

She sits cross-legged in the middle of his unmade bed, bare legs peeking out from underneath one of his hoodies. All she left in his room was a pair of shorts from the summer because she’s worn most of the clothes she left back to her own room. He’ll have to grab her some before she can leave.

With a bittersweet expression she takes the first bite of pie, and hums like most other times she eats cherry pie. It could be the worst cherry pie on Earth or it could be his momma’s cherry pie and her reaction is always the same.

Cups a hand over her knee and pulls himself onto the bed beside her as she takes the second bite. The tv is on the Cartoon Network and the colors flash brightly across the room overpowering the weak bedside table lamp.

“How are you feeling?”

“Full,” answers with pie crumbs littering her lips. The ice cream is melting all over the plate and her toes keep curling behind him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Takes her fourth and final bite leaving the crust as she always does, cheeks puffed out with food like a squirrel readying for winter. “About what?”

Smacks him in the shoulder and points to the bottle of water on the bedside table that he obediently grabs and hands back to her. “Anything?”

“Do you want me to talk, or do you want me to eat?” She unscrews the cap and drains the bottle in seconds. “Because I can’t do both.”

“I thought you were done eating?” Sets the bottle back on the bedside table beside the cold, now nearing, stale, rest of the food.

“I am.”

“Then you can—”

“I don’t want to do anything.”

“Okay.” His hand on his thigh, a dull ache from running around the mountain today trying to get things cleared up, ahe dusts off the few crumbs of pie she manages to decorate him with. “I have to—”

“I lied.” She smooths out the mattress sheet and pats it once. “I want you to sit with me.”

“Vala, it’s the middle of my shift, I’m supposed to be—”

“Not for long. I just—please?”

“Honey.” Somehow her eyes manage to glass over again, maybe with emotion because he’s pretty sure that bottle of water didn’t refill her tear stock, and he left her last time because he wanted to hurt her. Knew that the words, that she’s heard millions of words in multiple languages meant to hurt her and they barely ever do, but abandonment, well abandonment is always a great way to make anyone feel like shit. “Yeah. Okay.”

Crawls onto the bed beside her, letting her arm slip through his, making sure not to ruffle his Air Force fatigues too much. “Only for a moment I promise.”

“It’s fine.” His opposite hand, the one not snagged by her, covers her cheek and he presses a kiss onto her forehead and feels her grin tug against his hand. “I’ve got the time.”

*

By the end of the week Lam’s cleared her for going out on missions and the psych doc who never sees her for more than fifteen minutes just gives him a thumbs up at the door. But he knows she’s not doing much better, that she’s at the phase where she’s putting on a strong face for everyone else because she doesn’t want the pity, and she doesn’t want them in her business. 

She’s trying to do it with him too. He walked into her room yesterday and she quickly composed herself with a sniffle, smashed a hand into her eyes to clear the tears, bounced up from the bed hiding a ball of tissues behind her back, and smiled misty at him. Told her to stop, while he hugged her and felt her body relax into more sniffing, to cry of she wanted to while he retrieved the tissue ball from her hand and tossed it into the trash can.

But the thing is, they’re down a man, down two of the same man and with her out of commission it was three men, but she’s too strong to say she needs to stay out and he’s too involved with her to be able to make a clear decision about if it’s appropriate for him to intercept or if it’s fine because he can foresee them getting into some shit with her only at half attention while the other half silently sobs away behind a blank expression.

The planet they end up on is militaristic and sort of smashed all his views about the United States military being strict. The city they visit is a regular police state with martial law, officers on every corner, one in every store, they won’t answer questions and if you talk too much they write tickets.

Vala ends up with five by the end of the night

There also happens to be a forced curfew that no one bothered to tell them about.

So when they walk out of a pub, intent on making their way back to meet up with Dumas and his boys at the gate an officer pops out at the end of the block, armed and with a nonplussed expression. “Curfews been in affect for a quarter now.”

Before he can think of what to say, she’s off talking again, keen on getting ticket number six before they hightail it and blackgate the planet for her so she never has to pay. The universe isn’t as big as it used to be. “Yes, we’re terribly sorry, see we’re not from your planet and—”

The officer aims his gun at her, and the words die in her mouth. He rearranges their bodies, so he’s sticking out, so he gets the gun. “We were just heading to the gate.”

“No gate use after sundown.” At least the guard answers him, the gun faltering a bit.

“We’re really sorry, we’re not from here, we’re from Earth and we just want to go—”

“Empty your pockets.” Both their faces sort of crunch because they have a lot of pockets and because they’re not really carrying anything of much use. But the gun hikes when the officer’s eyebrows falter and he somehow aims at her again. “Empty your pockets.”

“Yeah sure.” Then for ten minutes they pull out all sorts of crap. She’s got lip gloss and hair pins and credits and coinage, just dumped into a pile on the streets as the officer shines a light and kicks through their stuff.

Then he comes to her five ‘monologue’ citations and his jaw sets. “You were supposed to pay these fines an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“We really are sorry. We’re happy to—”

But he yanks her forward, and she’s about to protest, she needs that sixth citation that bad, but the barrel of his gun jamming into the back of her head drowns her protests into a little squeak.

“Hey. Hey.” His hands raise defenseless, and he steps towards her only for the officer to shove the gun harder at the back of her head.

Normally, he would talk to the guy, distract him so Vala could step on his foot and then knee him in the crotch or something, but they’re both out of it. She’s not all there and he’s panicking because it’s her. Why didn’t they bring Rodriguez along? How the hell did Dumas skip all this?

“Barring code A47/D29—”

“We didn’t know, okay?” Stares at her, trying to keep his voice calm. She falls silent, her eyes wide and expression blank again for another reason.

The officer clamps one hand around the back of her neck to keep her from fidgeting. “—it is within my legal jurisdiction to withhold the law—”

“Look we’ll pay the fine.”

“—the appropriate method is extermination.” The gun clicks into place and she closes her eyes.

And he loses his shit.

Hand on his sidearm, which is completely legal to carry, so quick that the weapon is an extension of himself. Then he fires on the officer, who stands at least half a foot taller than her, hitting him in the forehead.

Later, part of him will feel remorseful, will feel guilty because that man probably had a spouse and  children, but it escalated to quickly, and he didn’t see any other options between him panicking and her panicking.

The officer topples over like a chopped tree. He grabs her hand, and yanks her to him, arms enveloping her as her body shakes against his. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

Pulls her back and bows to look directly into her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, darling.” It’s a lie because that night she wakes up drenched in sweat and unsure of where she is. After a few minutes he’s able to ease her out of her confusion and back to the bed beside him.

All the crap from their pockets is left on the street, except for a gem she intentionally stoops to pick up. When he quirks an eyebrow at her because they are on a timeframe here, and he does not want to find out what the punishment for murder of an officer is, the corners of her mouth tug down. “The Daniels gave it to be before, well, you know.”

He does.

He came so close to it happening again.

Doesn’t say a word, just grabs her hand and takes off towards the gate. Dumas stands waiting, taps his watchless wrist as they approach, and enters in the coordinates home. They’re still huffing when the Major and his boys walk on through.

He lets go of her hand just before they enter.

*

On the other side of the gate he knows they have to act differently, keep their hands to themselves, but they pant in unison and he’s already seeing replays of her face, her wide-eyed stare of horror while he stuttered words.

Already sees the bullet in slow motion ram through that guys head.

What he doesn’t see are the two bodies that accompany them through the portal until he hears someone clear their throat behind him and he thinks maybe someone saw what he did, has come to arrest him, and his hand falls to his sidearm again.

Only that’s not it at all.

It’s what he’d entirely forgotten about.

The Jacksons stand behind them at the bottom of the ramp, looking as well as ever, in the same clothes they were blown away in. Daniel Two drops his hand to Vala’s shoulder and she jumps. “Jeez, what happened to you?”

Then her eyes twinkle, not cherry pie twinkle, or the way they twinkle when he surprises her with a gift but go full kid on Christmas Day with awe. She clasps her arm around the Daniel Two and when Daniel One tries to sneak away, she grabs his black shirt yanking him into the hug as well. She laughs and she cries while they pat her back in a stiff placation and when they try to worm away she holds on with a death grip.

“Where were you my darlings?” Almost has them both in a headlock and they look to him for help but he crosses his arms, she’s earned this. “What took you?”

“More like what took you so long?” Daniel One pries her arm from around his neck and then dusts off his shoulders.

“Whatever do you mean?”

Daniel Two waits a bit and might be a little more into the hug, but then pats her back three times and she lets him go. He pulls off his smudged glasses and uses the bottom of his shirt to clean them. “What took you so long to go through the gate?”

“You—you left and I—”

“She grieved.”

“Oh.” Daniel One sort of shrugs it off.

“That’s an understatement.”

“Oh.” Daniel Two nods, understanding, and reaches his empty palm out to her. “Where’s the crystal.”

Twists her mouth around as she fishes through her BDUs for the only think she saved off the ground. When she yanks it out it’s not orange anymore but white. “Is this what brought you back?”

“Yep.”

“We had to get rid of the four-prone time device—”

“The chicken foot.”

“Yes, Mitchell.” Daniel Two sneers, “the chicken foot.”

“Anywho,” Daniel One presses between them, hands in his pocket and sort of shuffling. “We charged it to explode, but knew we’d be caught up in a temporal limbo—”

“—so we placed a temporal reversal—”

“A what?”

“A get out of jail free card for the 4th dimension basically.”

“But it could only be activated by a big power source—”

“—and since we _should_ be using the gate everyday it shouldn’t take long.” Daniel Two glares at Vala but she swings her arms around him.

Then lets him go and smashes a hug into Daniel One, then re-snatches Daniel Two until she’s got them both in the headlock again and he can hear her purr. “I missed you boys dearly.”

The Jacksons turn to him again for guidance or a way out, but he does nothing, just shakes his head because when he hugs her like that later, he knows she’s going to hug back the same way.

Daniel One releases a sigh of surrender into her shoulder and pats one side of her back while Daniel Two pats the other. “Well it’s always nice to be missed.”


	24. Lekon

She spends the next week and a half trailing the Jacksons around the complex, caters to their every need by delivering coffee around the clock or reorganizing a cabinet she’s organized at least three times before, or just simple silence as they cast her from the lab telling her to go find something else to do.

He thinks he could stand a Styrofoam cup of coffee placed on the corner of his desk and how he would never shove her out of his office.

At night she doesn’t talk with him anymore, doesn’t cuddle as much, mostly just jumps him and then skirts to her side of the bed. If he tries to cuddle her, she might shake her shoulders away and tell him no. Sometimes her muscles tense for a minute but then she relaxes and might nestle back against him.

He knows what this is, he’s not stupid, he still has nightmares about he crash over Antarctica. Knows what it’s like to wake up in a cold sweat of a disorientation. Also knows the embarrassment and the shame that came with him letting her reassure him the first few times, to peek inside his psyche and know what troubles him, but then it became comforting. Having her there meant he wasn’t in the crash again, he wasn’t wheelchair bound, and though his thigh still aches, she would nuzzle his cheek and whisper things to him and it worked.

It was one of the only things that worked.

But she doesn’t work that way.

He doesn’t know how she works because she won’t talk to him.

Maybe she’s not ready yet, maybe she never will be because from what she’s told him of her past, she can only rely on herself and he wants that to change but it will take time. The first step is supporting her in however she wants to be supported. So when she asks to be placed on the next mission out, perched on the corner of his desk with wide, bright eyes and the grin that he loves so much and he hesitates for a minute watching her grin disappear and her eyes turn downtrodden, he immediately relents.

And when she flings her arms around his neck, nuzzling the same cheek, he gets goosebumps and tells himself that she’ll come back.

Maybe not on time, but she always comes back.

*

“Hey Mitchell?” The walkie standing like a monolith on the edge of his desk hisses to life carrying one of the Jacksons’ voices throughout the room.

Shakes himself awake from where he’s laying on the sagging leather of his office couch.

“Mitchell.” Probably the other Jackson’s voice because they’re learning to share responsibilities. They grow up so fast.

Snatches the walkie and tries to clear his voice free of sleep. “What’s up, Sunshine?”

“We’ve got a problem.” The first Daniel answers.

“That’s an understatement.” The second rings in.

“Boy do I hate when you people walkie me to tell me that.” Washes a hand over his face, the rolodex in his head flitting over all the ‘problems’ they could have. Please not torture, they’re full up on the quota for torture. “Talk to me.”

“We’re coming back early—”

“All of you?”

There’s a pause on the Jacksons’ end, and he figures the puzzle of his and Vala’s relationship is about seventy-five percent complete in the Daniel’s collaborative minds. “Yep. All of us.”

“Good—”

“Plus one.”

“What do you mean—”

The klaxons go off signalling off-world activation.

He drops the walkie and runs.

*

Forgot his participant list, but there’s only three names on it. Daniel, Daniel, and Vala. What if she got cloned. What if he did again. If there’s a third Daniel he’s shooting to kill. They were nowhere near the Xerox ruins, they were in some planet on the outer ring trying to find diplomatic reinforcement. She can usually charm the guys into agreeing, like it or not most of the leaders are male and most of them aren’t blind so they fall for her blinks and her swivels, just like he did but probably not as hard.

Counts them as they pop out of the blue. Jackson, Jackson, a pause, while they both give him that Jackson expression of they’re fucked but not really caring because they’re archeologists. Then Vala, and she’s not giving him her general expression of remorse, or her scared look, or shocked or anything he might expect, her face is blank and that’s what scares him.

Then another guy pops through, an older fatter guy. He’s wearing a white robe with a red shiny shirt underneath and a lot of rings on his fingers and he figures they brought back the planet’s pope because of something she did or didn’t do. Customs are hard to figure out and it’s gotten them kicked off more than a dozen planets before. Can’t be friends with everyone.

 “Mitchell.” The Jacksons greet in unison and they roll their eyes at each other.

“Sunshines,” he greets back with a stern nod. His eyes dart to hers for that reassuring blink and smile but she’s not looking his way. “Who’s he?”

“This is Lekon.” Daniel One steps aside and lets the man through. Daniel Two gestures to him and introduces, “this is Colonel Mitchell, he’ll be the one you’ll need to negotiate with.”

“I look forward to a short but prosperous negotiation.” Lekon pumps his arm in the handshake with a round faced grin, refusing to let go.

“All right.” Yanks his hands away and claps them to clear away any remaining sweat. “I just need to confer with my team here for a second and we’ll get these negotiations well on the way.”

“Confer what, Colonel Mitchell?” Lekon straightens his back and the ornate golden stitching on his suit, small and almost invisible unless viewed up close, shimmers.

“Well.” Claps his hands together again and keeps them clasped this time. “To be quite honest, as to what we’re actually negotiating for.”

“Oh.” Lekon’s grin briefly fades but lights up again as he folds his sleeves together reminiscent of the monks she also managed to piss off and he’s going to have to hold a seminar for her on customer service and interplanetary relations. “As far as I understand, the Tau’ri wish to purchase a small piece of land as an outpost.” He glances at the Jacksons for reaffirmation and when they nod he smiles.

“Great, so what are we negotiating then?”

Both Jacksons eyes grow wide and they each shake their head wordlessly at him, one of them drags a finger across his throat and shit what’s he gotten into.

Lekon chortles and his belly bounces underneath the robe. “The payment of course.”

“Of course.”

The Jacksons are flailing now, two air traffic controls frantically telling him to land the plane before it crashes, but when he looks at her for the same confirmation, her face has no tell on it at all. “Which would be?”

“Taking her as my concubine.”

*

“Explain this to me again.” Bows his head to his knuckles and closes his eyes because less than an hour ago he was sleeping and so happy and he didn’t have to deal with this.

“I’ve told you twice already—”

“Once more, Vala, please.”

Her voice is level but in the little inflections he can hear it, the stress, the fatigue. “The Daniels and I arrived on the planet, they asked to speak to the boss, it turned out to be one of those backwards planets where women are subservient to men. The Daniels explained the situation, the opportunity to partner with—”

“He knows all this already, Vala.” Daniel One tosses himself back in his chair, jostling Daniel Two from a daydream.

“Then why do I have to repeat—”

“Because he’s looking for the part where you solicited yourself for trade—”

“Okay.” Shoots from his chair and in the absence of the argument he hears squeaky wheels across the tiled floors. “Jacksons go see if you can talk some sense into him.”

“We tried that on—”

“Try harder,” he presses through clenched teeth. The Jacksons, now about eighty percent complete their puzzle, sniffing closer to the truth like hound dogs, reluctantly push away from the table and out of the room.

He waits about a full minute, staring at her from the opposite end of the table and he can barely make out her face because he’s not wearing his glasses, but he can see her eyes shimmer. “Honey, what happened?”

“Everything I told you.” Takes her steps slowly but keeps his gaze until she plops down into a chair opposite him. “He assumed I was the Daniels’ concubine. Actually, one of the Daniels’ concubines—”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Of course not, I’m not his property.”

“Your no one’s property.” The words are so stupid because she knows that and he fucking knows that but he only knows a fraction of what she’s been through and maybe, maybe if this is one of those times like he has where he wakes up screaming in a cold sweat, maybe she needs the reassurance. He pats her on shoulder twice as he stands and goes to let Lekon down easy.

“Actually—” Her cold hand snags his before he gets another step away. When he turns back she has a little bit of a mischievous grin o her face and it relaxes him when it should terrify him. “The Daniels wove a magnificent story about how you had last say in it.” Her fingers course over his, then slide between pressing her palm flat against his. “It’s actually what brought us back here, so they may have saved us from a very unfortunate situation.”

Probably eighty-five percent on that puzzle now.

Wants to tell her that he would go there for her. He would wear his prescription glasses that make him look like his pappy, and he would shoot anyone who stood in his way. But he doesn’t because he knows, and she knows and they both know this is the unfortunate situation she’s talking about, because he’s so lost on her that his responsibilities are skewed, but screw that, maybe they were skewed before.

Doesn’t say anything to her but taps the side of her face with his finger and lets her smile fall into his hand.

*

“Explain this to me again.” General Landry sits across from him on a roll up stool as he holds an icepack to the split in his cheek.

“Well, basically everything’s the same, but when I told my best buddy Lekon that he couldn’t have our girl Vala as a concubine, his Buddha act went right down the crapper.” He leaves out the nasty words said on both sides. He might have made fun of Lekon’s pope robe but only after he said some very unfavorable things about Vala. If his momma was there, she would’ve slapped the guy blind.

“An IOA hearing on this is going to be unavoidable.” Landry groans as he stands, it’s late in the night and the general wasn’t too happy about being woken up after a red-eye back from Washington. “But since he hit you first, they’ll write it off as self defense.”

All the potential fires put out, Landry disappears back to bed and Lam lets him keep the icepack for good behavior. The cut isn’t so bad, three plastic strips holding his tight skin together and he gets to have another scar to tell the story behind on holidays and at charity functions.

Ones where she hangs off his arm in a gorgeous black sparkling dress and makes small talk with senators where she doesn’t insinuate their dicks are small.

*

She sits on his bed waiting for him, and when the door hisses open her head pops up. “Are you okay?” Pads barefoot across the cold floor and her fingers flutter to the taped cut, the bruise forming around his cheek and the hard bloodstains on his shirt.

“Fine Princess, it’ll take more than—”

She flings her arms around him, body flattening against his and she does the nuzzle again and over the sting in his cheek he feels the goosebumps pop.


	25. Amnesia

She goes missing and it’s bad. Not like before where after twenty-four hours she crashes in a ship, or after a day comes back handcuffed and scratched up. Hasn’t been like that since the time she left and didn’t come back the same. Left with SG-6 almost a week ago, and when Private Du Lac called for the last check-in, he was cut off, panicking, they heard gun fire.

There were screams.

He’s traced the topographical of the planet taken by the Prometheus once upon a time when it was just doing surveys and not exploding under Ori fire. Traced for so long he’s memorized the dips and grooves perfectly, marked their last known location just outside a small wooded area, and the glossy map is smooth and cool under his fingers, and he doesn’t know where she went.

The tracker in her arm is dead.

It’s dead.

“Cam.” Sam sits beside him at the same conference table where three years earlier he was doing the same thing because they abandoned her. Because she saved their asses and he knows that has something to do with it this time, but it’s getting harder to keep a good face, to pretend that every hour she doesn’t walk through the gate doesn’t piss him off a bit more. “You should go home, shower, grab something to eat.”

Pulls the pen end from his mouth and he’s almost cracked it open with his teeth. How long is he going to wait before showing his full hand and just going after her? How much does this job matter more than her? It doesn’t, figures it never did really, or he never would’ve started a relationship with her.

“I’ll call you if she comes back.”

“After almost a week, Sam, what makes you think she’s going to waltz back through that gate.” When he glares at her, he can see her eyes are just as tired as his. They all want to find her, find the rest of SG-6, they’ve all been working overtime at it, even the Jacksons have been researching the planet further trying to place any natural disasters, but it’s a big planet, and despite his earlier complaints, there are only two Jacksons.

“Faith.” She grins, but there are hidden tears in her eyes as she taps the top of his hand reassuringly. Doesn’t say much more to comfort him, but she stops in the doorway before she leaves. “She’s come out of worse.”

“How long do I wait, Sam?” Asks because she’s a woman, she’s in SG-1, she’s did the whole workplace affair thing with O’Neill before he transferred out and it became okay. Asks because Sam is smart, much smarter than him and has definitely reverse engineered his compulsive worry every time Vala disappears. Asks because he thinks his morals are starting to get a little clouded at this point, and he’s still sitting in this chair.

Asks because he has no idea what to do.

“How long do I wait?”

Doesn’t expect much in the way of an answer, not for her to tell him to wait one more day, just one more day. Give it a full week and then start the search and rescue. Instead she lets him answer the question himself. “I think only you can answer that question, Cam.”

*

He’s packing his bag when it happens. Rolling up the map and shoving it in. He doesn’t have an off-world partner, he doesn’t have any partner right now, but he does have an idea on where to find her, because they found the last ping from her transmitter four days ago.

“Cam.” Sam calls into the empty locker room, it’s really late at night, or really early in the morning depending on perspective. Was just gonna dial and sneak out, come back with her and hopefully still have a job.

“On my way out.”

“Cam, just hold on a second—”

“It’s almost been a week. I don’t know why I waited this long.” Honestly doesn’t, maybe the blind faith that she would return unhurt and a little dirty with a good story to tell him while he held her in his lap and played with her hair.

“No, Cam, the—”

“I shouldn’t have waited so long.”

Sam seizes the pause in his words, blurting out, “There was an off-world activation.”

He drops his bag, leaving it in the middle of the locker room, and running out into the hallway while she holds the door for him. “Is it her?”

It has to be her.

“Initial biological scans before securing the gate say it is.”

“So it’s her.” He jogs by privates, doing clean up duty in the hallway too late realizing they’re waxing the floors. He wipes out almost immediately, feet flying up from beneath him and slamming into a far wall. His thigh aches.

“Cam.”

“It’s fine.” Scrambles to his feet as the privates and Sam stare wide-eyed at his tumble then starts to hobble forward jogging off the pain.

“Cam,” Sam’s voice is terser, her hands on her hips like she’s going to make a play to convince him that Vala will still be in the gate room when he gets there, because he’s not entirely sure of it.

“I’m fine.” He shouts back, rounding the corner and bursting into the gate room. Expects to find her a little worse for wear with a bright grin plastered to her face and he’s going to hug her, he’s going to limp right over to her and feel the clumping of her greasy hair and the sweaty grit against her skin.

But that’s not what he finds at all.

Instead he finds her off the ramp to the gate a bit, her gun drawn and aimed at one of the three guards aiming back at her. Doesn’t notice her clothes, or hair, or skin, of if she still has her shoes because he’s distracted by the crazy look in her eyes.

“Vala,” he calls to her, but she doesn’t look at him, for being on edge her arms are perfectly straight, trained and aiming at the middle guard. Keeps approaching and the gun clicks in position in front of him. His hands shoot up in the air. “Vala, hey, it’s okay.”

“Who are you?” Her other hand bobs above her thigh level with her pistol. “Why do you know my name?”

“It’s me, Cam.” When he glances back at Sam she ducks back out of the room probably going for reinforcements. “Colonel Mitchell. We work together.”

“You’re part of the Lucien Alliance?”

“No.”

“Then we don’t work together.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Steps forward, approaching the line of guards, still gun-trained, finger-ready to pull the trigger.

“How about you tell me where the hell I am?” Shakes the gun at him, and she has the twitch at her lips, her tell, for when she’s going to break, when emotional turmoil takes her over. She’s putting on a tough show because she’s terrified.

“You’re at Cheyenne Mountain, Princess.” Steps through the defensive line of guards who look at him like he’s a bit crazy, and he is, because that gun hasn’t left sight of his forehead and he’s about to cry because she’s okay. A little memory lapse, but they’ve gotten her back this way before. “Stargate Command on Earth.”

“Earth? You’re Tau’ri?

“Yes, we use the gates, travel and explore other planets, help out where we can, we’re trying to make a defense post and failing miserably at it.” Drops his hand as he’s almost right next to her. The gun is still trained on him, but her arm is wavering. “Any of this ringing a bell?”

“No. Least of all you. I know we haven’t met, that I’m sure I’d remember.”

It hurts, and he doesn’t know what to say, but she’s relaxing, eyeing the three guards with a gun still aimed at her, but she lowers hers a bit more, not letting go of the weapon, but not aiming it which is good. “What do you remember, Princess?”

Cocks her head at him, maybe the nickname, and she blinks harshly, “I remember losing a shipment of naquadah for the Lucien Alliance. They’re after me for retribution.”

“Sounds like you could use a safe place to bunk down.”

Cocks her head again, maybe because he said the right words, because without her knowing, he knows a lot about her, things she’s let whisper out after almost four years of a relationship. After they became more relaxed with each other. “I’ve been pilfering what I could here and there in order to sustain myself but—”

“But you’re tired, maybe a little hurt. You probably don’t have the Goa’uld healing device do you.”

“How—” A half smirk of amusement grows on her face and she lowers her weapon entirely, holstering it at her side, and takes a step towards him. “How do you know that?”

He closes the last foot between them, and he can see the dirt dusting the lines under her eyes, and she’s probably starving. In a growl, barely audible he answers her. “Because it’s in the top drawer of the bedside table in your room.”

And it works.

She bites her lower lip and raises her eyebrows at him and God he wishes this was just some elaborate roleplaying scheme on her part. She eyes him up and down and releases her bottom lip, humming in approval. “I definitely would remember you.”

“You will.” He gives her his own mischievous grin, and she gains a wicked smile. He knows her, knows how to cheer up depressed Vala, knows how to flirt with defensive Vala, knows how to get her off in the ten minutes before an off-world mission so she’s more relaxed. “Now, I bet you’ve got the appetite of a grizzly bear. What do you say we head on down to the cafeteria and grab all the food you want.”

“Colonel Mitchell,” she purrs in shudder, then hooks one of her bare arms through his, and he notices for the first time that she’s wearing one of those leather deals she was wearing when she first shuffled through the gate. It’s tight against her skin and she must be so uncomfortable. “You definitely know your way with women.”

“Nah. Just one.” The armed guard line breaks for the as they walk through, and he doesn’t notice if they have judging expressions over some of the information he’s divulged. Well, if he can sign her out every night for half the month without anyone second guessing, then maybe they really are that in the dark.

“Darling,” her voice drawls and he loves when she calls him that, in that rasp, usually to calm him or butter him up to get something. “You said you worked with Stargate?”

“Yep, so do you, I’ll explain it to you over a ridiculous amount of Jello.”

“I had a run in with them, well one man who stole the ship I trading for the naquada, his name was—”

“Jacksons.” He greets both Jacksons as they fumble through the door followed by Sam, who noticing he’s diffused the situation, simply shrugs at him.

Doesn’t know what to say because he remembers how Vala was with Jackson, and her obsession in prodding and innuendos, and she might gravitate towards him. If she does, maybe one of the Jacksons can convince her to use the memory restoring device. It’ll hurt him. Years with her for one encounter with Jackson on the Prometheus. He doesn’t want it to hurt him, she doesn’t have the memories he does, but he can’t help it.

Before he can say anything, she responds. “Good Lord, there are two of you?” Hugging herself tighter against his arm and tugging him forward to the cafeteria. “Your poor mother.”

*

“Tell me more about me.” Her elbows are on the table as he sets down two trays of the things she likes to pick from in the cafeteria.

“Well, you love oranges, especially in the morning.”

“I do!” She’s delighted and amused a bit as she plucks the large fruit from his hand and begins to peel it. “I haven’t had one of these in forever, my mother—”

“—had an orange tree in the backyard. You carved your initials into it.”

“Yes—yes that’s right.” The amusement drains from her voice and he’s starting to lose her by coming on too strong. Forgot how Vala was guarded as hell, hell, Vala is still guarded as hell, early Vala is like a brinks truck. “How well do you know me?”

“Well.” He leans forward across the mountain of food that she’s slowly making her way through. She crosses her half of the table to hear him. “You have a tattoo on your right hip.”

“Tattoo?”

Tries to think of her word for it. A small green splotch about the size of a kidney bean. “An inking.”

“Yes.” Still less zeal and smile than before as she falls back on her butt.

“You call it an inking but it’s more of a marking from when—”

Holds up her hand to him. “Colonel Mitchell.”

“Cameron.”

“How do you know such pertinent information about me.”

“Because I love you.” Shrugs it off and sits back on his butt too. His arms still crossed on the table and she actually stops eating which is something he’s never really seen, at least not before she’s full.

“You. Love me?”

“Yeah, that’s another way to say it.”

“I don’t fully understand—”

“You didn’t when I told you the first time either.” Rolls a green apple away from her pile and shines it on the shoulder of his uniform before taking a large bite. “You thought it was impossible for anyone to love you.”

“Colonel Mitchell,” She moves to stand from the bench, her legs swiveling free from under the table. “Perhaps you could show me to my accommodations, I’m not feeling particularly hungry right now.”

“Sure.” He hands her a piece of cherry pie on a plate with whipped cream, her absolute favorite. “Eat it on the way.”

*

They walk down the hallway in relative silence, except for her groans of pleasure every time she takes a bite from the pie. He scowls at every private who checks out the leather bodice against her chest, or the tight pants covering her ass.

“Do I love you?” She questions from no where when they’re in the elevator.

Maybe she means for it to shock him because that’s all he’s done to her all night, but it doesn’t. It makes him grin as he presses floor seven. “You do, you haven’t said it, but you wouldn’t want to steal my clothes this much if you didn’t.”

“Darling, maybe you don’t know me at all. I love to steal.”

“Not when you’re safe, you really don’t do it that much.”  

“Safe? I’m safe here?” The doors open, and the hallways are empty, everyone on the floor either asleep or at work in another sector. “Do you—do you keep me safe?”

“You’re safe here because of you. The team looks out for each other, but with me I think you like having someone who just lets you be you.”

“Have you ever locked me in a brig?” Her eyes are darting around looking for some place to put the used paper plate full of crumbs.

“What? No.” Holds out his hand and she gives the plate back to him, the next bathroom they pass he ducks in and tosses it into the garbage. She waits patiently for him outside the door. Not running away or breaking into rooms, more enthralled with his stories than an escape. “I locked you out of the bathroom last year when I wrapped your Christmas gifts.”

“You bought me gifts?” Clasps her hands back together and her eyes actually glisten with the same excitement she had when she opened them.

“Yep, a silver necklace, a purple puffy scarf and a hair clip. You started to do your hair a few months after you got here.”

“Do—Do I do nice things for you?” They stop at her door and he roots around in his pocket for his pass.

“All the time.” Finds it in his back pocket and slaps it to the sensor outside her room. When she doesn’t say anything, he gives her some more details. “You bring coffee to me in my office even though the doctor says I shouldn’t have it anymore. You clean up my house anytime you come to visit because you hate the fact that I have a cleaning lady.”

They enter her room and the lights flick on automatically. There’s a pile of clothes in the corner that are a mixture of his and hers, the top drawer on her dresser is his, she gravitates towards a picture on the nightstand of her and him at an amusement park. “You threw up so much that day.”

“Was I pregnant?” Her eyes go wide.

“No, honey, you just had too much carnival food.”

She sets the picture back and sits on the edge of her bed. “You said you think I love you.”

“Nah, I know you do.” He pulls up her desk chair, and sits across from her, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together.

“If I haven’t said it, how do you know?”

“Because when I wake up in the middle of the night screaming, you don’t leave. You sit beside me and hug me and drag your fingers through my hair and tell me I’m alright.” He reaches for her hand and she allows him to take it in his. “I know because it helps me, and I feel safe with you.”

“I—I want your memories.” His thumb rubs over her knuckles and she manages a weak grin, the same one she would give him early in their relationship when she was adjusting to his touches not immediately meaning he wanted sex. “I want our memories.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He stands to move, but she tugs him back, “Cameron, do we work with the Daniels?”

“Yeah, pretty closely.”

“Good, you should know that he zatted me on the Prometheus on two separate occasions, and then undressed me when I was unconscious.”

*

Sam sets up the memory device in one of the interrogation rooms. Vala tries to turn and run as soon as she sees the room, but he hooks his arm through hers and they enter together. He sits beside her while she gets strapped in for the third time and by now she should be a pro at this, would be if she ever remembered.

 It doesn’t take long. Sam said it wouldn’t, because the preliminary scan they did shows something like a plug blocking her memories from the last five years, basically Sam just has to find the insertion point and unplug it.

She holds his hand, her face contorts in discomfort and when he glances to Sam she nods, telling him she’s almost done.

In one of her blinks it all comes back.

“Cameron.”

Tugs her into a hug, his chin resting against her shoulder while he holds her, happy to have her back. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“I was burned alive.”

“Yeah.” Forgot about all the bad memories from the last five years, being broken up and sent through a supergate, and—

“Oh my God, Adria.”

*

They’re at the house. They needed to get away from the concerned Sam, the questioning Jacksons, the horndog privates still watching the sway of her hips as he walked her back to her room and whispered he’d come get her in fifteen minutes.

The coffee table is pushed out of the way, the Chinese food cartons half finished and leaking all over the wood varnish. She sits between his legs, angled sideways a bit so her legs poke out through the bend in his, her forehead tucked under his chin as they watch the Sunday night football game he recorded four nights ago and hasn’t watched yet.

She hugs his arm to her, wraps it around her hip and sighs against his chest. His free hand rubs her back and her heartbeat thumps rapidly from the shock of the last five years. Of having and losing a daughter.

“You know.” They show a replay of a fumble, she loves to laugh at the slow motion of the replays and usually makes him rewind it at least once to watch again. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared in my life.”

She doesn’t say anything in response, not even a sigh or a heavy breath. Remembers last time how she took to her released memories so easily, and that was her entire life, all the childhood traumas and actions as Qetesh. Five years has left her sapped.

“And I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as when I saw you in the gate room.” He presses his cheek to the top of her head and reaches back grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch when she starts to shake. “Your skinny ass aiming that gun directly at my head and I think I fell in love all over again.”

“I love you, Cameron.” Comes right at the moment of a touchdown and the part of him still in high school thinks it’s really poetic. “There’s nothing more I want then this right here.”

“Same.”

“But you’re going to have to be patient with me.” Doesn’t look up to him, doesn’t move from the cradle of his arms. Doesn’t need too. He knows how to translate the tenseness of her muscles, the raspy tone of her voice.

What he doesn’t know is what happened to her in the six days she was missing. What she did to survive, how she ate or barely ate, where she slept, who she trusted, where the rest of SG-6 actually went because there are still four other men MIA.

Instead of pestering her, he kisses her tender, on the lips, before cushioning her head back against his chest. “I’ve got nothing but time for you, princess.”


	26. Hitchhiker

A month passes, then two, then more.

She’s the same Vala.

But’s she’s not the same at all.

The nightmares, which he’s sure are more like repressed memories, happen less infrequently, but are still just as severe. She doesn’t want to be touched during them, sometimes after them. Sometimes she pulls on her clothes without saying a word to him and leaves before 0300. Sometimes when he gets up at 0500 she’s left without kissing him goodbye. He knows.

Sometimes he only sees her in in the hallways, or at a debriefing before she goes out on a lengthy mission with Teal’c and SG-7. He hates those days, he hates not knowing how she is.

Stops her in the hall once a month to go over his boss checklist. How is she doing? Does she feel like she wants to talk to anyone about what happened with Athena’s goons? She always says no. She completed her mandatory session with the psychologist, he happened to be strolling by when the doctor pushed her from the office after seventeen minutes and said he couldn’t help her if she wasn’t taking it seriously. She beamed at him and he wanted to be mad.

He didn’t want to be mad at all.

He loves her.

He’s going to marry her.

He still has the ring.

Only, now she’s not talking to him too much. She’s not sneaking into his room and throwing his arm around her to keep warm. When he swipes his pass at her door, she says she wants to sleep alone and he’s been sleeping alone for a week and he has no idea how he did it for so long.

 Stops her in the hall and this time she has the audacity to ramble off, “I’m doing fine. I don’t need to speak to anyone. Thank you.”

He whips out an arm, grabbing her by the bicep and dragging her to the side of the hallway. She rolls her shoulder to shake him off. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“Nothing, I’m—” she attempts to wrench her arm away, but he holds it stationary. “Ugh, just let me go, Mitchell.”

“Mitchell?” He does let her go, watches as she preens her clothing back into perfect order and starts to walk away. “So I’m Mitchell now?”

That halts her. She pivots, a few feet away from him, standing in a reflection of the fluorescent lights hanging above. “I just—” she pauses, fingers wringing around her wrist. “I just need time.”

He shrugs, the futility of the action catches in his voice, “I’ve given you time, Princess.”

“Well, I need more.”

*  
Two nights later he’s laying in bed staring at his ceiling and remembering those little plastic stars that glowed in the dark that his momma glued above his bed when he was a kid. They stayed there until he replaced them when a poster from the swimsuit issue of vogue. It’s still there in his room, untouched by time or his parents, and maybe he’ll take a trip down there soon. Bring her. She probably won’t want to come, but she did like his parents. Learned to make pie and knitting from his momma, kept up in drinking whiskey with his dad.

He gets emails from them, sometimes the odd phone call and his momma’s always asking when he’s going to settle down. When are they going to settle down because he’s not getting any younger, he knows, his thigh aches and he has glasses. Asks when he’s going to marry her, and he wants to blurt out that he’s trying but she’s making it so goddamn hard.

The door whooshes open and bright light from the hallway bursts across his bed. He’s surprised because it’s been almost two weeks. He tries to play it cool. To pretend to be asleep, or just continue to mull over his life choices and staring at the starless ceiling. Instead he shifts over to accommodate her while she strips down and climbs into bed beside him.

She still fits against his side perfectly.

She lets him play with her hair, run his finger down her back. He chances dropping a kiss to her forehead and she sighs. He doesn’t know what made her come back. Never knows what makes her come back, to the SGC, to him, but maybe she knows that as many times as she leaves, he’ll still be here.

“Cameron.” Her hand stills against petting his chest. He doesn’t answer just glances down at her to find the whites of her eyes peering back in the darkness. “Something’s wrong with me.”

Doesn’t know how to respond. Nothing’s wrong with her, wants to tell her that, that whatever she thinks is wrong just adds to her character, but she might misinterpret his puppy love views as support for all the bad shit that’s happened to her.

“Do you want to talk to me about it?”

“Not particularly.”

So they’re at a standstill and he should say something pertinent, something to drench her fears, but he’s not good with words, which is good because she’s more of an action woman, but he’s also not so good with actions.

Maybe she’s not good with words because no one has ever told her the right ones.

“I’m here for you.” Hugs her closer and she stiffens a bit in his arms. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be here.”

*

Thinks she does better after that. She smiles at him more, talks to him more, seeks him out in his office for lunches or dinners, sneaks into his room at night and when he creeps into hers, she presses flush against him again. It’s like having a huge gulp of fresh air after being on the Odyssey for weeks. It’s like walking on his own two legs for the first time in months after the crash.

But then one day he enters the cafeteria, and she’s sitting across from the Jacksons laughing at something they said, and of course they’re not laughing back because they’re both Jackson and both have no sense of humor. They scowl at her, or what she said and she purses her lips together trying to keep in the braying laughter he loves to hear. He waves as he stands in line to grab some food, maybe convince her to come and sit in the privacy of his office with him. She waves a little coquettish and he grins.

It’s when the cook slaps down something that’s supposed to be Salisbury steak on his tray that it happens. He doesn’t know what it is, but she leaps up from the table, her tray clattering, as the Jacksons unsuccessfully try to talk her down with their ramblings while she marches away.

He abandons the brown mess on his plate and approaches the twin thorns in his side. “What the hell happened.”

“Nothing.” They say unanimously, and then send each other a surprised expression.

“What did you say?”

Daniel Two plays with his food, drawing circles in tan colored mashed potatoes. Daniel One stares him right in the eye. “Nothing she didn’t already know.”

*  
The next day they go back to P3J-505, just him and her, Teal’c,  and the remaining half of SG-7 that’s not on paternity leave. If she’s wary of Athena’s henchmen coming to sweep her up from the crowded marketplace, he’s even more aware. He stands behind her, or beside her every chance he can manage, makes schematics where she’s the guard, the watchman, or the bait. If she’s the bait he can stay back and just zat whoever she’s swiveling her hip at, tell her she did a good job and kick the guy in the ribs while he walks by.

They run into a hurdle when the magistrate of the village, the kind with pubs and inns and located only a two-day journey from the skyscraper infected New York City wannabe, refuses to let them take pictures of an ancient text, worried that the flash from the cameras will cause the words to fade. He tries to explain that the flash can be turned off and takes a picture of her to prove it, she has the same hooked grin as a certain high school reunion photo and he chuckles.

Despite their little show, the magistrate still refuses, blocking the text and forcing them to leave. She retires to her room early declining to get a drink with him and Teal’c.

“Colonel Mitchell, may I be so bold as to ask you a question?”

“I’ll try to answer it, Buddy, if I can.” He’s on his third ale which is the size of a jug of milk and he’s starting to get those high school party sweats. Knows he should stop but it’s so sweet, like how beer should taste.

Teal’c takes another swig, he’s finishing his fourth and it doesn’t seem to have any effect on him at all. “Your relationship with Vala Mal Doran seems to have progressed.”

“Progressed?” His face is greasy when he runs a hand over it, should’ve guessed Teal’c would be able to tell, hell their rooms are right next door to each other and neither him or her are exactly stealthy.

“You are in a romantic relationship, are you not?” Teal’c’s jug hits the top of the counter as he finishes the last drops. He drops some money, enough to cover them both, on the counter and when the ale maiden tries to give him change, he waves her off.

“It’s supposed to be a secret relationship,” he mumbles into his arm.

“When we discovered where Athena was holding her, she asked for you. This is what lead to my assumption.”

Teal’c looms above him as he stands, offering a hand for his own less stable body. “You going to rat us out?”

With a grin, Teal’c reassures, “I believe you compliment each other very well. It is not my place to intercept that.”

“You should tell her that, you know?” He staggers beside the massive Jaffa who walks calmly with his hands clasped behind his back. “She likes you.”

“Perhaps I will, but not at this moment. I am far too inebriated.”

*

When he gets to her room she’s gone. The bed is made, everything is in place and she’s gone and of course he thinks of Athena, because Teal’c didn’t get a chance to kill her last time, laid waste to all the goonies, but never got a chance at the boss battle.

It’s not until he notices that her go bag, her supplies, mainly her camera, are missing and he knows exactly where she went.

*

She almost gets herself killed.

Apparently there have been major threats against the magistrate, who isn’t the greatest of guys, so when she breaks into his house intent on taking pictures of an ancient text, and leaving with a fuller pocket, the guards are armed and firing at will.

By the time he and Teal’c arrive, still shitfaced, greatly shitfaced, she’s bounding over the meadow the mansion has for a backyard and up the hill towards him. At first, he thinks she sees them, is happy they’re there and is ready to scoop her up into a Sound of Music spin. Then he sees the guards and the dogs after her, and the zat blasts burning into the ground she’s just trodden

“Vala, run,” he yells, like she’s not already doing it.

It’s a miracle that she climbs the small hill without getting shot. He grabs her hand yanking her up while Teal’c points his own zat at the guards. She grins sheepishly at him, and when the guards train their guns, he shoves her behind him.

“Hand over the thief.”

“Oh she’s not a thief, she’s more like a paparazzi.” His sidearm is trained and he’s really hoping he doesn’t have to use it because he’s reaching the stage of drunkenness where it’s hard to see, hard to focus.

“She took property that didn’t belong to her.” There are two Doberman looking dogs, all muscles and slobbering jaws just barking up a storm and the noise is starting to harsh him out of the giddy buzz.

His hand sneaks back laying half on her hip, sort of on her ass. “What’d you take?”

“Just pictures.”

And he waits. Teal’c waits. The guards wait. And the dogs keep fucking barking. He wobbles a bit holding his pose and when he finds that he’s lowered his gun he raises it again.

“And a gumball. I took one gumball because they looked yummy.”

“Give it back.”

“Fine.” She sets the wad of gum from her mouth into his hand and he hands it back to the guards.

They look at him with disgust and slap from his hand. “She has taken photographic evidence of a sacred text; the camera is now our property.”

“No, you can’t—”

“Give them the camera.”

“Cameron, that text might let us find the—”

“Vala, just give it to them.”

The dogs roar over their conversation and she continues bickering with him and he’s only losing his patience because his head is starting to hurt and he’s only losing his footing because he’s so fucking drunk. The guards tire of their married couple routine, married and it distracts him for a brief moment, brief enough for one guard to reach forward and lay his hands on her. Not brief enough for him not to punch that guy in the face.

Not brief enough for him not to get zatted.

*

Wakes up in the inn bed by himself, but in her room. There’s the sound of running water in the bathroom and of her brushing her teeth. His head is killing him, pounding from the ale, pounding from the zat and he’s so hungry but also, he’s probably going to throw up.

She appears in the doorway wiping her mouth clean, and the most unimpressed expression on her face he’s ever seen. “Sleep well, did you?”

“I think I’m dying.”

“Why did you come after me last night?” Crosses her arms as she walks towards him, giving him shit, just like a real wife, only—wait, didn’t he save her?

“Uh, from what I remember, Princess, I took a zat blast for you.”

“You took a zat blast because you punched a guard.”

“To protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting all the time.” Tosses her hands into the air and turns her back to him, wiping a hand over her eyes. “I got along before I met you and I’ll get along without you as well.”

“Hey. Hey—just—” he tries to sit up and the room slopes to the left, His eyes smash shut as he grips the edge of the bed.

“Things have happened to me, Cameron. Horrible things. Before and after I met you. It doesn’t change anything.” The weight of her creaks the hotel bed, a modest old mattress in a wood lumber frame. He fishes for her blindly, until he hears her sigh and curl her fingers in his hand. “Maybe we should—”

“No.” Springs up from the bed, ignoring the need to vomit, ignoring the blinding light of the sunrise leaking through the window. She flinches at his quick movement and he drops the level of his voice. “No.”

“Not end it just—”

“No to whatever the hell idea this is.”

“I’m not in the right mind to be in a relationship right now.”

Accepts that they’re never going to be _that_ couple, the one he always dreamed of being. The one with three kids, maybe an accidental fourth, that take over his parents’ farm when they get too old to run it and when he gets too old to be saving the Earth. They’ll never have a minivan and sing awful one-hit wonder songs while they drive across the country for a holiday. Hell, the best he can hope for right now is keeping her in his house overnight without getting found out.

But she’s what he needs, he didn’t grow accustomed to being with her, she grew accustomed to being with him.

She’s the one who settled for him.

“I’m not going anywhere. We’re not doing this. You want to slow down on the romantic front? Fine. You want no sex, fine. More sex, fine. You want to sleep separately, fine. But I am with you, Vala, and you are not getting rid of me.”

She doesn’t respond to him, but stands from the bed, dropping a kiss on the top of his aching head, and leaving her room.

*

And she doesn’t talk to him for a week. He falls asleep in his dorm watching the Late Night Show wearing his grandpa glasses and drinking contraband beer, trying not to think about the empty space beside him and how it makes him feel empty inside.

Then she comes to see him in his office as he tries to keep up on the teams, the transfer requests, the rampant barrage of paternity leaves. Rodriguez is the newest candidate, he just rolls his eyes and signs the area for approval.

She knocks at his open door and strides into the room, out of uniform on her off day and he misses when her off days were spent doing crafts, or watching shows and telling him all about it that night over dinner, the way her face brightened, how animated she got over commercials or flyers.

“We need to talk.” She’s got on a black sweater that’s overstretched in the arms and her fingers curl around the end of the sleeves.

“Yeah, sure.” He sets down the request forms and stands from his desk, hating those words and knowing she’s going to want to call it, but he can’t. He can’t because he has these feelings and these notions even if she doesn’t fit them perfectly.

Can’t because he has the ring.

Leans against the front of his desk not expecting her to take a seat, and when she doesn’t fall into a monologue about how it’s not working again, he dives into small talk. “Hey, did you hear that Rodriguez knocked up Pam from accounting?”

Her eyes squint in confusion for a moment. “Who’s Pam?”

“She’s the one that give us our pay stubs.”

“I love Pam.”

“Yeah, he’s the fifth person from SG-7 to put in a request for paternity leave, weird right?”

“Actually.” Fingers trail over her sweater sleeve cuffs, playing with a loose thread. “On Macha there’s a—”

“Matcha?”

She stops pacing and her fingers still. She angles her head at him and when he doesn’t call it off as a joke, she answers, “The planet SG-7 has been stationed on for almost four years. P3X-whatever. They have sort of an incantation placed around the whole planet.”

“The whole planet?” He lets out a whistle, not really impressed after all he’s seen people frozen in time and watched her abandon a hairdryer in order to get out of a temporal hold. He knows the weird shit that can happen off-world. “Must have been one hell of a spellcaster. What’s the incantation for?”

“Well,” she draws out the word, her fingers poking out of her sleeve once again as she drifts into a position beside him at the desk. “Apparently hundreds of years ago the men weren’t exactly holding up their end in procreating—”

Puts two and two together pretty well for a Lieutenant Colonel who can barely hold it in the field anymore. Still sees pretty well without the glasses. “So, it makes the people overly fertile?”

“Just the men.” She’s so close beside him and he can feel her warmth, feel the haunting of her fingertips grasping the ledge of the desk beside his, feel the air escape her mouth as she talks. She still smells like flowers.  

“How do you know this?”

“Because I had a nice chat with a friendly chemist after I stopped in for some advice.”

“Why would—” And the twos keep adding in his head, the two of them in bed at the inns, sharing the same tent on stakeouts, in the washroom at one of the parties, two and two and two and somehow it falls back on just them. Just him and her and he knows what she’s going to tell him, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to hear it.

“I’m pregnant.” She doesn’t smile afterwards; the corners of her lips fall into a negative, then neutral expression. She’s nervous, scared maybe because she’s fed up with the nightmares, with the torture, with her body being used up by others, with not getting consent, with him because almost everything he does is for her at this point and she hates it.

“Marry me.”


	27. Qetesh

“I can’t believe how fast they’ve grown.” She stands at the edge of his patio while he fries up some burgers. It might be the last nice day of summer that they’ll get between going off-world and the change of the seasons. “They’re only a few months old.”

She’s talking about the sunflowers.

Convinced him to let her do a little planting in his backyard because it looked so bare. Sure, the yard has that grass that’s so green it looks fake, and it’s taken care of because recently he’s become obsessive in the upkeep of his lawn. Maybe all guys just hit a certain age and become overly concerned with lawn care.

Didn’t have to talk much to convince him, since their first year together, since the first summer barbeque he brought her home for, she’s been talking about wanting to garden again because she used to when she was younger. He bought her a couple of packets of seeds and now the outer ring of his perfectly manicured lawn is a jungle.

He loves it.

Kneels with her knees digging into the edge of the soil, perfect white little shorts and bare feet. She’s got Daisy braids and one of his dress shirts on. Still lays claim to his clothes when he’s not looking.

“Maybe we’re on a radioactive site.”

She preens the dead leaves away from one of the flowers so large its head is starting to droop. “Do you think?”

“Well sunflowers are supposed to absorb radiation.”

“That sounds like something the Daniels would know.”

“Oh, I’m sure they probably do.” Flips and presses a final time, then turns the barbeque off. “Come and get it while it’s hot.”

“Mmm, you don’t have to tell me twice.” She winks at him and he rolls his eyes. Her cheesy flirting an inside joke to them, but when she actually flirts with him, she barely has to say two words before he’s in. Sometimes just the right raise of an eyebrow or a flick of her tongue over her lips.

They sit at the small patio table and eat outside. She tucks her legs beneath her on the chair cushion and he watches as she slathers four buns with ketchup and then downs two burgers without so much as a drink in between. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” Speaks with a full mouth but then dabs at the corner of her lips to collect any stray ketchup.

“There’s one left if you want it.” Gestures back to the barbeque and watches her bound by in those little shorts. Hears the rustling of the bun bag and the snort of more ketchup. The burger is practically gone before she makes it back to the table.

Wants to ask her if she wants more, because he’ll cook more. Wants to ask about the amount of ketchup she’s eating and if that’s her first craving. Wants to tell her there are ketchup chips down at the specialty convenient store that he can buy in bulk. Wants to ask anything about how she’s feeling, or doing, but he’s afraid too many questions will seize her up.

“Not feeding you well in the cafeteria?”

“Not as good as this, Cameron. You’re a marvellous cook.”

“Burgers, honey,” Swigs back his beer, then opens the one he mistakenly grabbed for her because he’s still getting used to the whole baby thing, it would probably help if they could talk about it. “They come frozen. All I did was flip them.”

“Well you did that marvellously.” Sneaks from her seat into his, and there’s dirt underneath her fingernails when she plays with his hands. His blue dress shirt is tucked into her shorts, the loose material wrinkling.

“I don’t like that you’re still going on missions.” Leans his head against her chest and she tickles behind her ear.

“I know, darling.”

“I don’t like the fact that I’m not there even more.”

“Sometimes things just happen, you don’t have to like them, but you have to go along nonetheless.”

The sentence is cryptic enough to be straightforward. The tone, the insinuations. “Vala, if you don’t want—”

“I don’t know what I want.”

*

He wakes up before she does. She’s curled up under his arm, her legs kicking restlessly, bunching the sheets with the comforter at the foot of the bed. The noise she’s making are almost words, he can make out some. ‘Stop’ in a Goa’uld dialect, but most of it is just tones, half whimpers followed by a harsh sarcastic scoff.

It’s a common occurrence at night, whether they’re in the house or stuck on base. Flails in her sleep, sometimes she works her way up to screaming before he has a chance to wake her. He catches her wrists when she starts to hit at him, collects them softly in one hand and caresses the side of her face with the other.

“Vala, it’s all right. It’s just—”

She bursts fully awake, smashing her forehead directly into his nose. He grunts in pain, his hand flying to pinch his nostrils, releasing her wrists and she takes off towards the ensuite, the door cracking off the wall.

“Vala.” Throws the sheets off his bare legs and tries to regain his balance in the dizziness of what feels like a broken nose. There’s another crack, this time of plastic against porcelain as he staggers to the ensuite, slapping on the light.

She’s bowed over the toilet, throwing up three hamburgers, and the container of ice cream she ate for dessert. Tries to think of what he could say but can’t really think of anything to make the situation better. Opens the medicine cabinet and shoves a pack of gauze up the lazy river leaking from his left nostril. Washes off the blood in the sink and fills a glass of water for her.

By now she’s leaning on her arm against the rim of the toilet seat, her chest still heaving but not blowing chunks anymore. His touch to her shoulder startles her, she’s hot and sweaty and falling a bit to sleep. “I promise I cooked the burgers through.”

She manages a soft grin at him. “I promise you, that’s not what this was for.”

Helps her move to sitting on top of the closed seat, and hands her the water, which she takes in small gulps. She told him ten days ago she was pregnant, but it’s still new to him, this is new to him and he doesn’t know why she doesn’t talk about it with him. He readies her toothbrush and handing it to her and shifting from the spot in front of the sink.

Watches her reflection, her pale skin, the redness in her suddenly awake eyes. “Vala—”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Cameron.” Spits the words into the sink, then swirls water from the cup in her mouth.

“Do you want to talk about why you don’t want to talk about it?” Takes the mischievous route because sometimes giving her the runaround works, sometimes he’s just so damn charming that she’s the one who rolls her eyes at him and gives him a half answer.

Spits the rest of the water into the sink, washing out the basin, her head hanging. “No.”

Not the full answer he was looking for.

*

She soothes his aching nose with little butterfly kisses, with stroking of her now cool fingers against his cheek and through his hair. Brings him some pain relievers from the medicine cabinet and apologizes in hushed coos that make his hair stand on end. Wants to tell her she can full out punch him in the face if she just lets him in. Just for a few minutes so he catch up on the score.

“You never told me what happened on the mission with the Jacksons today.” He strokes her fingers, feeling them twitch against him as she fights to stay awake.

“Just visited the embassy on P3X-something-something-something, I wrote the report, it was rather uneventful.”

“The Jacksons didn’t even do something memorable? No new planet government screw ups?” Drops her hand to his chest where the fingers sprawl out, relaxed.

“They made a stink when I made a stink about being scanned before entering the parliament building.” Her lips press together as she nuzzles against his shoulder, turning so his fingers drag idly over her stomach and he freezes, waiting for her to buck back but she’s too drowsy to care.

*

Wakes an hour later to the same jimmy legs punting away the sheet and blankets to the bottom of the bed. Her eyelids fluttering, and her hands and arms twitching. He sighs, reeling his arm back in, ready to wake her when her eyes slick open and she calmly raises from the bed. He thinks she might be returning to the bathroom for round two, but she stands at the window, long hair flowing down her back, almost touching her clasped hands.

“Honey.” Rubs a hand over his face forgetting about the newborn injury to his nose and hisses. “If you want to spy on the neighbors it’s better to do when they’re awake.”

She doesn’t turn away from the window, doesn’t waver at all, he can barely see her breathing against the limelight of the streetlight. “What planet it this?”

“What?” He checks the clock and it’s a little after two. Normally he accepts her weirdness, accepts it in strides especially since she came back with her confidence and her character shattered in pieces almost a year ago. “Please tell me you didn’t lose you memory again.”

“You dare to question me.” In a flash her body leans over his in their bed, her hand dangerously tight over his throat before he can even react. “You are nothing but a sacrifice to satiate my demands.”

She doesn’t smell like herself, the scent of her floral shampoo, the usual creams she uses, the ketchup from earlier, the sour scent of vomit covered up by peppermint of toothpaste. Her hands are rougher, skin hot, fingertips pointed. Her voice is deeper than usual but not as deep as—

“Vala,” squeaks it out against her rapidly closing fingers. There is no expression on her face, flat with the obvious intent of murdering him, eyebrows and lips slack.

It’s a long shot, but maybe not.

“Qetesh?”

“You dare to address me directly.” Releases him, he coughs against the rush of air. Her eyes are wild, not memory loss level of wild. “I should gut you and bathe in your entrails.”

Well, that’s a bit excessive.

Scrambles, sitting up in bed and she watches him like a jungle cat, half in the shadows, eyes trained on his movements. “Where’s Vala?”

“You presume to ask me—”

“You’re dead.” His mind stumbles through scenarios. If she attacks him does he risk defending himself? Attacking her back? “The Tok’ra ripped you clean out of her.”

“Then how am I still here Tau’ri?” She breathes in deeply as if to double check. “Yes, you are Tau’ri. And she is—” Another deep inhalation and her face contorts in disgust. “She is impregnated. The waste of a perfectly good host.”

“She is not your host.” He flips out of bed while she—it—hell—escalates and she eyes him like she did each of the hamburgers, with pure hunger. “You’re dead, disintegrated. You’re just the ghost of a personality haunting her.”

“And yet I control her.” To prove a point, she bobs Vala’s arms in an almost hypnotic gesture, like some form of ballet. But the movements stutter, her voice cracks in and out, the remnants of Qetesh fading. “I—control her body, I am privy—to information—only she knows. She remains my—”

“You’re the leftovers of a space parasite, and you’re fading away.” She collapses half onto her side on the bed, knees giving out underneath her, and he stalks her, circles around, watching her limbs go weak as she loses control until her eyes scan his. He kneels down beside her with a cocky grin. “She’s not your host.”

“And you—Tau’ri pest—are not this child’s father.”

*

He’s tired as hell but knows better than to complain.

Drove to work at 0230, Vala in the corner of the passenger’s seat chewing on her fingers, not saying a word. Tried to turn on music, the top one hundred pop station she loves so much, and it didn’t phase her. Offered to pick up McDonald’s breakfast that she usually hops in her seat for, and she didn’t answer.

Walks her down the too bright white hallways leading to medical and the doctor charged with overnights, vaguely remembers Dr. Rix returning from the Sun Tzu and taking on the graveyard shift. They don’t touch, can’t touch with cameras around ever corner and privates running around with their minds all screwy from overnights. He can’t hold her, so she holds herself, arms folded over her chest hugging the faded blue t-shirt that she dried for too long on the line in their backyard.

As they reach the med lab door, as eloquent as he never is with words, he thinks they especially fail him now. She stands ready to press the button for entrance, but stops at his half-words, more like the guttural sounds exiting his mouth. “Just—if anything—if you need anything—”

In a movement so skillful it’s almost liquid, her lips are on his, and the kiss doesn’t pack the same skill, doesn’t showcase her abilities at all, but it does what it’s meant to do—relax him. Sighs against her and ignores the want to press against her, instead he presses the button for her.

*

At 0430 the Daniels are up and wrecking havoc in the hallways. Sort of boxing him in with one on each side. He spent the last hour going over inventory request forms for the SGC teams, everything ranging from ‘bigger guns’ to ‘little pointed erasers for the ends of pencils’. The hour before that he spent brooding in his office, teetering on the edge of falling asleep out of exhaustion, but every time he did he remembered her—it—Qetesh and it’s dying words to him.

“I looked in the logbook—”

“ _We_ looked in the logbook—” Daniel Two oversteps in front of first and corrects with a half grin half glare combination.

Daniel One concedes with an understanding nod and restarts, “we looked into the logbook and you’ve been signing Vala out three or four days a week.”

“So?” Questions half awake as he fumbles with the keys to his door. The words have no truth, from what Vala’s willing to tell him about her time as Qetesh, the symbiote had no honor, making and breaking deals, making and breaking people, no one could trust her which lead to her being double-crossed and the eventual downfall of her empire.

“Ugh, well—”

“Would you care to explain?”

The door pops open and his office is dark and inviting like that cave they got caught in the rain in. He tosses his keys to the desk and skips the main lights for just his little desk one. His to-do list is partially started and none of it are things he wants to do. “No.”

“Mitchell if you and Vala have a thing—”

“We know you have a thing—”

It is too damn early in the morning for the Wonder Twins to be this hopped up on caffeine and giving him the worst interrogation he’s ever had. It’s almost offensive how they expect him to pony up to a relationship he’s hidden for almost four years. “Look, Landry approved to me signing her out.” It’s not exactly a full lie, Landry or O’Neill had to approve his request each time and unless there was a damn good reason they always did, the played it off as friends, partners in crime sort of. “She needs to get out of this mountain. She gets depressed, and she’s been here for almost six years.”

“So speak to the IOA about—”

“Then the IOA can—”

“They’re too busy with Landry trying to finalize some sort of alien act.” Remembers he’s supposed to read the latest info package Landry sent back for him and adds _IOA bullshit_ to the bottom of his list.

“An act?”

“What kind of act?”

“Quid Pro Quo, Sunshines.” Undoes the lock on his bottom desk draw and slams a group of papers as thick as a phonebook to his desk. “You can read it, but I want more information about yesterday’s mission.”

“Well, we gave you all the info you need—”

“Just read the reports.”

“I did, twice in the last day. And hers. Mysteriously, all of you left out the part about the scanner in the government building.” He could really use a cup of coffee right now, but the acid reflux wouldn’t be worth it. He should technically just be waking up and ready to jog around the neighborhood, trying to make it home before the streetlights turn off. Then if he’s lucky, she’s up puttering around the kitchen trying to make him a ‘manly man’s’ breakfast.

She would give him coffee.

“What about it?”

“It’s completely harmless.”

When they reach to snatch the scrapbook Landry has painstakingly stitched together for him, he rips it away first, waving a finger at them and it’s such a Vala action that if they already didn’t know, it would give him away. “Haven’t heard anything I don’t know.”

Daniel One sighs and glances to Daniel Two who gestures for him to take the lead. “It’s an archaic piece of technology designed during the height of the Goa’uld empire.”

“Basically, it uses high frequency, low radiation particles to make anyone hosting a Goa’uld known.”

Daniel One picks up the conversation again. “The particles force the Goa’uld personality to the forefront of the communication centerl of the brain. Within seconds they would be easily identifiable among a crowd.”

“And you two bozos thought that it wouldn’t have any affect on Vala.” He stands, still holding the dictionary sized layout of potential alien plans.

“What would it?”

“Vala has been symbiote free for over ten years at this point.”

Pushes through them clustered at the side of his desk, and motions to them to get out of his office. They shuffle by him and wait in the hall. He tosses them the novel, and immediately Daniel One digs in with Daniel Two peering over his shoulder. They walk in sync, linked by words on paper down the opposite end of the hallway and towards their lab.

“Hey.” Calls out and jogs the small distance between them. They’re alert enough to stop, but both grimace at him for being interrupted so soon. “Did Vala ever talk to you about what happened to her when Athena got her.”

“The first time—”

“—or the second?”

“Second.” Checks his watch, the cafeteria might be open now. He could swing by the med bay, grab her and have a manly man’s breakfast of greasy spoon eggs and thick hard waffles.

“No.”

“Never said a word to us about it.” Daniel One keeps his finger in place as a bookmark, they’re already on page three.

Daniel Two sort of connects the dots to his question. “You think she’s lying?”

“No.” Knows she went through hell, knows she took it harder than any of the other times they pulled her away from violence. But in his mind, he hears Qetesh question the paternity of their child, and then he hears Vala start the simple sentence ‘Athena and her boys’. That was over half a year ago and he knows it’s got no play, but it might be more haunting that way. “I think she’s not telling the whole truth.”

*

Rix gives her the all clear, the digging up of Qetesh’s latent personality, or whatever it left behind in Vala’s brain receding according to an MRI and various blood tests. Knows they found out about something on the blood tests, but she hasn’t shared that information with him. If she had an ultrasound or not, how far along she is and God, he wishes she would talk to someone.

They sit across from each other at a table in the empty caf. Workers are setting up for the day, for the impending rush in less than an hour when normal people wake up. He takes a sip of his coffee and it tastes like crap, and she pushes around very runny scrambled eggs on her plate.

“Not hungry?” Chances another sip, and it still tastes awful.

“I’m starving.” Sighs into the side of her arm where she’s resting her forehead out of sleeplessness, exhaustion, sickness, any combination of the three

Maybe it’s the eggs, they’re full of protein but stuff that washes away in the gutter looks more appetizing. “Do you want me to go get you a waffle?”

“No, it’s fine, Cameron.”

“They have chocolate chip ones, and blueberries, or—”

She pushes the tray away and her eyes are half-lidded, her words slurring. “I’m straddling being so hungry I could vomit and having an intense bout of morning sickness. I don’t think I’ll be eating until lunch.”

“I could pick you up from your follow up with Lam.” Toys with her fingers on the tabletop and expects one of her hidden grins, but there’s no change in her barely there expression. “We could order in lunch, whatever you want.”

“I think I might just take a personal day.” Runs her hands through her hair, like she might rip it out, and then pauses, her eyes slipping closed briefly. “I mean if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course.” It might delay a mission or two, but he knows the reasoning, the multiple reasons, and half of him wants to know. Really needs to know what’s going on, healthy or not, boy or girl, his or not, from love or from—something else.

But then it really doesn’t matter. They’ll have a baby, or the won’t. If it’s his it’s great and if not, well maybe he’ll never know. Just needs her to be healthy, needs her to open up about it. He scoops up her hand, keeping it low to the table, but runs his thumb along her knuckles. “I’m here.”

“I know you are, darling.” She offers him a weak grin and it’s not enough, it’s not enough understanding. She doesn’t get the implication of his words, didn’t when he asked her to marry him either.

“No, I’m here. I’m not leaving.” Play with her empty ring finger and knows this will last. Knows if they have a child, he’s not going to care what Qetesh said. Knows in a year from now, things will be very different. “I’m in for the long haul.”

“Cameron, I’m not sure you should be.”

He shrugs, forgetting and taking another sip of his coffee, almost spitting it back out into the cup. “I’m here when you’re ready to tell me things, or for when you’re not. I know you’ve been through a lot, but talking about it has to—”

“I’m going to go lay down.” She kisses the tip of her finger and pokes him in the nose, standing, swaying, barely awake.

He just has to be patient. He waited almost three years before he made a move on her, three long years where he just watched her switch between annoying the hell out of Jackson and flirting beyond reproach. Three years where he took her to meet his parents, where they danced at his high school reunion, where she somehow got him naked and chained to a hotel bed and left him with a twinkie, pay-per-view and a hard on.

And now they might be having a baby.

Or not.

They might get married.

Or not.

Just has to let her make the rules, because she’s spent the majority of her life living under someone else’s.


	28. Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little FYI, I've rewritten the ending of this story because it didn't fit the tone (it was too dark). So the good news is there's going to be an extra chapter to make it a rounded 30. The bad news is I'm going to have to rewrite the sequel.  
> Also the original ending is preserved and will be used for another story, so no worries there. It just really didn't fit with this one.

He’s sitting at his desk going over the scheduled off-world missions when there’s a knock at his office door before it bursts open, cracking off the wall so hard that the flag beside his desk starts to wave in the after gust.

It’s Vala of course and ironically, since finding out she’s pregnant they’ve been spending less time together. He doesn’t understand the force behind it, but she’s the one drifting from him. Him fawning over her only fuels her need to be alone, so he suppresses cooing to her still toned stomach or asking her what she’s eaten that day.

So, when it’s obvious that she wants time alone, he can’t do a damn thing but give it to her.

“I need to speak with you.” Knew she would seek him out when she was ready, because she looks sick. Sick beyond the restlessness that all the pregnancy books warned him about.

He forgets his promise to himself to not suffocate her with all the prospective first-time parent questions and before he even recognizes it, the words have left his mouth. “Are you okay?”

“No, actually, I’m quite sick from a recent mission with the Daniels to that tundra planet with the melting ice caps—”

“Honey, that was Earth.”

“It was?”

“Yeah.” Flips closed the manila folder, one of hundreds located throughout his office in more and more interesting areas because he is quickly running out of space. “You and the Jacksons went to Antarctica to look for that ancient artifact that—”

She blows a raspberry at him, her hand waving through the air to shut him up. “That’s not important.”

“Then what is?” There’s a flush creeping up the skin on her chest to her neck and her cheeks. She probably has a fever. His memory is sketchy because of all the missions, but thinks she returned two days ago—two days—and before baby, before Athena, they would’ve been inseparable.

“Your office attendant is going to kill us.”

“Okay, it’s assistant.” Sits back against the edge of his desk and watches her balance sway between the two chairs aiming his way.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Well, I mean, Gloria’s not exactly the smartest cookie in the tin but—”

Her hand grips down on the chair arm, but she doesn’t let her voice falter. He’s watched her talk her way out of executions and parking tickets while having almost no voice or being half blitzed. “She’s a mercenary.”

He reaches out, his hand touching hers and igniting on impact. “You’ve got a fever.”

“Do not let that dissuade you, your assistant—”

“She’s the office’s assistant.” Grabs her wrist and starts walking her to the door. “And you’ve got a fever so high I’m not sure why you’re not seeing pink elephants.”

“What I’m seeing is a—”

“Yes, a homicidal office assistant. Can you get yourself to Lam okay?”

“You don’t believe me?” And her face falls. Puppy dog falls and he doesn’t know what to tell her because she’s probably burning so high that she’s hallucinating.

“Tell you what.” Clicks open the door for her, the hallway busy with the shift change outside his office. His hand falls to her back, the plain black t-shirt that sticks to her skin, soaked in sweat. “Let’s talk about it after you see Lam.”

*

The door to her room opens and despite him knowing full well that the air vents are circulating, a wall of warm stuffy air hits him. He holds back any remarks because she might just kick his ass out of the room. She’s laying on the bed in a tank top and shorts trying to cool off, her hair fanned over the back of a pillow and her arms listless at her side. “How are you feeling?”

“Like death.” She doesn’t turn her attention away from the tv.

“Well, I brought you some chicken noodle soup from your favorite bistro downtown.” Raises the paper bag in his left hand, the one that’s leaking a little but smells amazing.

“Cameron, I have a fever of 102, I do not want your soup.” Her chest raises and falls at a pretty fast rate, like when they play basketball, or have races on the odd morning jog she’s awake for.

Sets the soup bag down on her bedside table and starts rustling through a plastic bag filled with from his stop at a pharmacy. Hopefully she’ll forgive him after this, but he has a feeling if normal Vala is vindictive, Vala with a cold is going to be on a warpath. “Great because I also got you apple juice, ginger ale, and some medicine to help with the cold.”

“I don’t want any of it.”

“Vala—”

Her arms cross over her chest but quickly deflate to her side again. “You can’t win me back with material possessions.”

“Honey.” He unpacks the plastic bag, lining the drinks and drugs along the edge beside her soup. Her skin glistens a bit in the light and he notices that the tv isn’t even on. “This is you we’re talking about.”

She processes his words for a moment, eyes narrowing further and then corrects, “this time you won’t win me back with material possessions.”

“What did I even do?” He laughs, and her head snaps to the side with a glare and he knows that one is going to cost him. “You didn’t come to me last night, I’ve seen you once all day and—”

“Would you like me to detail your most recent folly of not believing me when I tell you your office attendant—”

“Assistant.”

“Whoever she is, she’s evil and most likely a spy.”

“Vala, Honey, I would take you seriously but—” when he tries to sit, she musters some strength and boots him in the ass, pushing him back off the side of the bed. “You know if you didn’t have a fever of a hundred and three—”

“one hundred and two.”

“You’d be really annoying right now.” Tries to sit again and when she tries to boot him, he catches her foot, holding onto it and settling it in his lap.

“And if I wasn’t unceremoniously pregnant with your child, I wouldn’t be sick.”

Well, she’s got him there.

She’s spent the last five weeks ignoring every single damn thing he has the nerve to ask her about the baby, about how she’s feeling, about if she even wants it, while he plays it off cool like he’s not exploding within. He’s so dumbfounded she actually acknowledged the pregnancy that he doesn’t even think of what to say next. Agreeing with her always helps and at least then he’s able to talk her down from her point a bit, like with a royal purple guestroom or when she assures him that she’s fine after waking up screaming.

But part of him is tired of rolling over whenever she gets upset with him. Part of him is tired of being the one who loves more. “Well it takes two people.”

If he could eat the words before she heard them, he would have. Has no idea where in his mind the blame came from, but he’s willing to take the blame, more than happy to and it’s not—

“It’s feeling very one-sided to me at the moment.”

He’ll easily take it over the eruption he expected because she’s sweating through her clothing in an air-conditioned room. “Is there anything I can do?”

He walks right into it, and maybe it was her unconsciously playing him the whole time, he’s seen her do it before with vendors and guards, skirt around a subject and with a few good expressions, wetting her lips and winking, and the mastery of using her body, circling like a wolf while using her curves and sway to elicit the response she wants.

The sick expression washes from her face and her toes pick at the inseam of his pants, and he doesn’t care what she says about how she never uses sex as a weapon—well maybe not a weapon, maybe as a defensive tool for debate—it’s a skill she’s got down. He flies planes—if they would still let him, Teal’c knows hand to hand combat with most weapons, the Daniels speak languages that don’t even exist yet, Sam does complex mathematical equations in her head, and Vala has complete control over her own sexuality—and probably anyone else’s that she wants.

“Now that you mention it,” her voice has that low sultry tone to it. Her toes still pluck at his pants, as his hand trails from her ankle to shin, but then she withdraws, and playfully punts him in the side of the face. “You could fire your office attendant before she kills us all.”

“Hey, this is a low-level contact sport, Princess.” Reclaims her foot resettling it into his lap. “Besides I can’t just fire her, I have to have a reason—”

“How about she’s going to attack and probably kill several dozen of us.”

“A validated reason.”

“I saw her stealing sticky note pads.”

“Honey, she probably needs this job to pay rent and student loans and—”

She creeps up behind him, slinging her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek to his and she is almost on fire. Her skin is wet, not even sweaty or clammy, but wet like she just came out of the shower or a pool. “Darling, she’s a hired mercenary, probably for Athena.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“What?”

“Athena.” Turns his head towards her and hear the snuffle in her nose, nostrils closed off as she tries to breathe. “About what happened to you? It’s okay to be—”

“That is not even a modicum of what this is about.” Pulls away from him, scooting across the bed so she sits on the pillows, back propped up by her headboard.

“So tell me.” Cups her knee, also hot, also wet, jostling it a bit. “What’s this about then?”

“I suppose it’s about me wanting to protect my work environment, my colleagues, my friends, my partner, and myself from an energy weapon wielding mercenary.” Jostles her own knee to knock his heavy, warm hand away.

Reaches for her again, this time to get her closer, placate her enough into taking some medicine and drinking some apple juice. “Then you’ve done that because Gloria isn’t—”

But she bucks off his legs, sliding herself further away from him “On a grander scale it’s about you not trusting my intuition on these subjects even though you know how well I’m versed in them.”

“I trust you.”

“You don’t though, not all the time.”

“Like when?”

“Like right now, Cameron,” huffs and her eyes are growing half-lidded, her body sliding down resting on the pillows.

“Okay. Okay.” Cracks the bottle of apple juice for her to drink while she’s still mostly sitting up.  “Tell me why you think she’s working for Athena?”

“When you’ve been around Goa’uld long enough you start to recognize their mannerisms.” Sips at the juice, then takes a big chug of it.

He fights with the bubble packaging on off brand cold medicine. “Gonna need something more than that.”

“The way she holds her head, it’s not entirely human.” She drains the rest of the apple juice, capping the bottle, tossing it to him, missing by a mile and it clatters to the ground.

One of the pills finally pops free into his palm and he hands it to her with the ginger ale. “Okay?”

“The bubble gum popping is a cover, it’s a forced idiosyncrasy to cover aloofness in human reactions.” Swallows the pill and hands him back the bottle before cuddling back down into the pillows.

“How do you know that?” He pulls her hair out from behind her head, fanning it back over the pillow, and her quick breathing starts evening out.

“Because there is no pattern to the gum popping, it’s not anxious or happy.” He kisses her forehead, his hand resting on her neck, then trailing down the side of her body, the skin on her arms and shoulders is starting to cool from the air conditioning. He chances letting his hand rest against her stomach. Her breathe hitches and she shifts onto her side away from where he’s leaning over the bed. “There is no emotion behind it.”

*

He’s dead ass tired, probably not as tired as she is because she hasn’t woken up since he’s gotten into the room and just stared at her for a few seconds. One of her legs sticks out from under a blanket, a blanket too heavy to be on her when she’s entering day two of fighting a fever. There’s a sheen of sweat on her forehead making wisps of hair stick in place, she looks drenched like when they were stuck in that cave on that crappy rain planet.

The soup, the ginger ale, and cold medicine are still lined in the same way he set them and maybe she hasn’t even been awake again since her fevered rambling about Gloria being evil.

Despite everything they’ve been through she still won’t let him in, not all the way, just sort of foot in the door because she can’t admit to when she’s scared.

She still doesn’t completely trust him.

Sits on the edge of the bed, and the bounce in the mattress springs her immediately awake, her eyes wide and her body rigid as she sits up.

“Just me, Princess.” Toes off his boots by the heels and he kind of misses how they were three years ago when they were on the same team, when he was the leader and they did cool shit all day, like stop wars, and help trapped people, and take down the Lucien Alliance, and take down Ba’al, and take down the Ori. Before they were together, when he wasn’t hurt that she had a thought she didn’t tell him about, before he wished she relied on him just half as much as he relied on her.

“Cameron, what—what?” Smacks her hand to her forehead clearing away the hair and the sweat, and then to the corner of her mouth clearing away the spit. Her eyes never fully open, still heavy and her nose gurgles as she tries to inhale. “What.”

He puts it all away. Because he loves her. Because she loves him. Because he loves the baby she refuses to acknowledge. Part of loving her so much is settling, letting go of the things he can’t change.

Cups her jaw with his hand and she’s wet, hot, sticky, and sick as all hell, but he presses his lips to her forehead and feels her grin with fatigue. “Same day, just night now. Are you hungry?”

“A bit.” Her hand covers his own and her eyes close for so long he thinks she might have gone back to sleep. But then they crack open again and she skews her mouth. “I don’t feel hungry, but I feel as if I should eat something.”

“Okay, want me to heat up your soup?”

She shakes her head and their hands drop to the clumping sheets. “I think I might overheat if I eat it hot.”

Nods, and pushes his creaky thigh back to standing while he searches around her room for something to use as a makeshift tray, settling on a glossy fashion magazine. Sets it on her lap and adjusts the pillows behind her back before handing her the soup and the ginger ale.

“How was your day?” Questions nonchalantly as she starts spooning soup into her mouth.

“Long and boring without you there.” Kisses her temple and she stops eating to grin.

Untangles the sheets without getting in the way of her only meal and straightens the objects on her end table again. Then he yanks his shirt over his head and curiosity gets the better of him. “Still think Gloria’s a Goa’uld mercenary?”

“Who is Gloria?”

“The office assistant.”

“Oh.” She accepts the napkin he offers and wipes her lips clean of chicken soup. “Then yes.”

“Still trying to convince me.” Stands only in his boxers, reaching forward to accept the soup container she hands to him, full of dirty tissues and one plastic spoon. He chucks it into the garbage and set the magazine back onto her dresser.

“No, I realize that’s a lost cause.” Her hand whaps the bed beside her as she leans over and yanks the cord of the bedside lamp. “Come snuggle the sickness from me.”

He climbs into bed beside her, bringing along a new box of tissues and after moving the garbage closer to her. She’s still hot, but more awake and more settled, her head resting on his chest and her fingers threading through the hair there. Takes his chances because they’re never going to talk about the baby if he doesn’t advocate for it. His hand cups her stomach and the muscles are a little harder to find.

“How’s the little guy?”

“Little guy?” Her voice is distant, and she smells like chicken noodle.

“Or little gal, I’m not picky.”

“Oh, the baby.” Nods into him, her head now at his shoulder and they get further and further apart as she starts to fade into exhaustion, but she perks up again. “The baby is probably sick as well.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.” His fingers lap at her skin, at their child beneath.

“Don’t do that.” She shudders away, pulling his hand from her skin.

“Sorry I just—”

“No, it tickles.” Replaces his hand, just stationary onto her stomach, and nuzzles back into his chest.

His exhale bounces her again, but she’s gone back to sleep and he doesn’t know what to do and what this means. Is this their baby now? Are they having this baby? Should he start letting himself get excited?

Just saves the words and savors the feeling, it’s something he’s learned to do with her more. He pecks one last kiss to her forehead and she mumbles from her throat barely opening her lips. “Cameron?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Your office assistant is going to try to kill you.”

*

She gets upset with him the next morning.

He barely slept a wink, just reveling in the touch of her skin, the idea of having a baby, raising a baby, taking them to his mother’s for homemade pie and knitted outfits, to his dad for tractor rides and wooden carved toys. All the Christmases, birthdays, Halloweens, Easter egg hunts and when she woke because he was holding her too tightly, she wouldn’t answer him when he asked about the baby.

Doesn’t know if last night was a lapse in her constitution or just part of a live-action fever dream, but it put them both in a sour mood and while she tried to explain herself, to get him to sit back down at 0300 and have a talk with her about their future, he ignored her and fled from the room like all those warm almost memories in his head.

*

“Morning Colonel Mitchell,” Gloria pops her gum as soon as she enters his office. She has a stack full of white envelopes and one big brown one addressed to him, probably something to do with the new IOA Alien Act from Landry.

“Morning Gloria,” mumbles back his lips on the Styrofoam rim of his cafeteria coffee.

“Oh, is Vala around?”

“No.” Sips the too hot liquid and realizes he forgot to put sugar in.

“I just figured you had coffee, and she’s the only one who brings you coffee.”

“Nope.” Shuts the ledger on his desk, a new gift from Landry to help him organize the teams better but with SG-6 still MIA, presumed dead, and SG-7 defunct since, well, everyone on the team now has, or is expecting a kid, his job has become a lot harder but easier on organizing. “Still out sick.”

“Oh. Okay.” She drops the letters in his inbox and turns, her red hair swaying at her shoulders, and walks towards the door, managing to open it, but then closes it again. “Colonel Mitchell?”

“Yes?” Holds the word and screws his eyes up from where he’s already ripped open the first letter.

“Are you and Vala dating?”

“What?”

“It’s just that you’re really friendly with each other—”

“We’ve known each other almost seven years.” Also, they’re in love and having a baby and might even get married if she ever remembers that he proposed to her.

“So you’re not?”

Yes. “No.”

“Okay.” She breathes out and holds a hand over her chest in relief. “Good.”

And she pops her gum.

Pops her gum in a time of relief instead of anxiety or happiness or emphasis and he angles his head and stands from the desk. “Why?”

“Well—it’s—it’s nothing.” There’s no gum popping, not during his entire approach, his slow crawl from the desk to the door, using his sternest face so she knows he’s upset with her. “It’s just, I heard she used to be a Goa’uld and—”

“Gloria, what do you know about the Goa’uld?”

“Just that they’re—”

Her sentence cut short by the gun she draws, quick, quicker than anyone on SG-1 back in the day. And he fucking hates this because he’s going to have to tell her she was right later on and she’s going to have something else to goad over him. “When did you figure it out.”

“Honestly, just a few minutes ago. I mean you’re nosey but you’re not that—”

“Shut up.”

The gun jerks up and he holds his hands out defensively. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want.” Gestures with the gun back over to his desk.

“Anything on the Clava Thessara Infinitas?”

She nods standing a few feet away between his two guest chairs. “Put it all on a drive and give it to me.”

“We don’t really have anything, just so you know.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” Flicks the gun and he continues typing his log-in on his laptop. Over the sound of his fingers clacking keys, there’s the distinguishable sound of her cocking the gun. “It’s sad really, but you’re so useless that it really doesn’t—”

A shot rings out and he flinches.

Thinks about Vala, about the baby, about how he’ll never get to hold it, or hold her again. About how he really shouldn’t have left her angry this morning because there’s obviously something else upsetting her. Thinks about how he just wants a nice house in the middle of nowhere with her and a big backyard she planted, and some crops. Maybe an old hound dog and a chicken coop and a kid toddling around barely balancing on their own two feet.

How he doesn’t want to leave things the way they are now.

But his panicking, his final thoughts are for nothing because Vala, barely balancing on her own two feet, is standing in the doorway, her gun still drawn and the barrel still smoking while Gloria lays crumbled on the ground between his two guest chairs.

She catches his line of sight, the same heavy eyes, the same sticky skin, and she tosses the sidearm on the ground. “I’m going back to bed.”

*

When he gets out of their shower, she’s standing at the opposite end of the hallway in front of the guest room that they still haven’t painted after almost two and a half years. They could never decide on a color and the idea of having to get her approval to paint a room in his house, well in the house the army delegated to him, upset him, but he liked the way she just placed herself here like his home was her home. And it was, from the first time he brought her, and she just waltzed into his bathroom took a shower and then used all his milk in her cereal the next morning, it’s like she was always meant to be here.

Dries behind his ears and tosses the towel back onto the bathroom floor to clean up later, the sidles up beside her and stares at the empty, but primed room. Leans sideways a bit and from the corner of his mouth questions, “penny for your thoughts.”

“Oh, they’ll cost you more than that.” Nods back at him with a weak grin, still distracted by the prospects of filling the room.

“We could still paint it purple if you want.” Steps behind her, his chin on her shoulder and his arms daring to slide around to her stomach.

She immediately tenses, rolling her shoulders, knocking him off. “And what will that cost me?”

“A conversation.”

Shakes her head, fingers circling his wrists and pulling him away from her. “I don’t have the energy for that right now, Cameron.”

Grabs her arm before she gets all the way away from him, doesn’t tug or pull, just holds her in place. “Then please just answer one question for me. One question honestly.” Her eyes hold his in a flare of stubbornness. “Why are you so afraid of having this baby?”

“I don’t kn—”

“You do, Vala, I know you do and maybe if you told me I could—”

“Because I know it’s yours.” His voice dies in his throat and his lungs might completely deflate. “Because I know it’s yours, but I don’t think it is.”

“What?”

“In my mind, in all the memories playing out in my mind each night before I toss and turn and wake up screaming or scared or confused, there are scenarios that have happened, long before this child, long before I met you, and they confuse me and make me doubt the paternity even though this child is yours. Give me an aversion to a child I know is yours.”

He knew it was something bigger by the way Qetesh’s words haunted him, by the way she recoiled in everyway possible once she told him about the baby. He’s offered to hear her out, offered up psychiatrists, or even Lam to just listen, but she doesn’t want anyone to listen. Doesn’t want anyone to talk to, and it makes it so hard to comfort her. “Come here.”

She inhales a shaky breath against his shoulder as he embraces her and turns her away from the spare bedroom.

“What if I scream in my sleep and then wake the baby?”

“It would probably already be screaming.” Holds her, sways with her in crescent steps to a rhythm neither of then can hear. With a sigh he rests his cheek on the top of her head, pushes all the worry, the concern he has down into the footsteps leaking over the hallway floor. “Who knows, it might be my turn that night to wake the baby up with nightmare screaming.”

She halts their dance, apparently not finding any solace in his joke, and when he glances down at her, her eyes are glassy but determined. “I can’t do this because you want it, Cameron.”

He kisses her once on her forehead and unravels his arms from her hips. “You don’t have to do this for me, but you do have to make a decision because I can’t do that for you.”  


	29. Another Hitchhiker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this chapter being late. As I stated in my last update, the ending of his story was suddenly changed and I had to rewrite it. It also doesn't help that this is the longest chapter. Hopefully the last one doesn't take as long.

Didn’t think Gloria getting shot would involve this level of investigation and this much paperwork. From the cleaning crews down to HR, everyone’s got their hands in the mess, making it harder for him to do his job: scheduling all the teams, doublechecking planets the Research and Development department send his way and make sure that, yeah they have a breathable atmosphere, and yeah the natives aren’t going to go all Hills Have Eyes on the teams.

It’s making it harder for him to spend time with what he assumes is his budding family, because in the two weeks since Vala’s fever broke, she hasn’t spoken of their baby to him. Hasn’t even used any coded words, knows since he dissects her sentences now, trying to discern if there’s any hidden meanings that she’s waiting for him to catch on to.

They haven’t had a conversation about what and when to tell their superiors. About how she should’ve been removed from active duty seven weeks ago. Haven’t discussed prenatal vitamins or birthing plans, he’s been reading up on shit just in case things go bad, he’ll know, he’ll be prepared.

But he’s never prepared for half the shit she does, and if it weren’t for the physical differences in her body—the barely there dip of her stomach, the way she hisses when he paws her breasts too hard—then he’d just assume she chose not to keep it and just didn’t tell him.

Doesn’t have the time to dwell on how after four years, that’s an option.  

“Mitchell, why the hell do I have the HR department calling me up on a secure line to complain about you?” Landry’s so loud he holds the phone away from his ear and can still hear the General. “They say they you’re being too picky with the office temps.”

“Well, that’s subjective, Sir.” Holds his hand up to halt a private at his office door who has probably come to deliver news he didn’t want to hear. “I did ask that they do screening to make sure we’re not hiring any Goa’uld or Goa’uld sympathizers.”

“She says no one from the secure pool of applicants will take the job because they’re afraid you’re going to shoot them.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” The private tries to enter his office again, with jittery, wide eyes. When he holds out a hand to stop him again, the solider bounces on his feet, eager or anxious. “Vala shot the last one, they should be afraid of her.”

“Speaking of Ms. Mal Doran,” Landry’s voice takes on a harsher, gruffer tone. “Legal wants to know how she got access to a gun when she was apparently on medical leave.”

“I don’t know, but she probably saved the lives of several staff members, including my own, when she put Gloria down.”

“There’s another thing—the IOA want to have a conversation concerning you and her.”

Washes a hand over his face, only vaguely aware of the private about to explode in his open doorway. “Why?”

“You know damn well why.” Landry almost laughs. This isn’t exactly how he thought the revelation of his and Vala’s relationship would happen, but he was counting down the days before Landry pulled him aside and asked why the fuck he’s signing her out every night like his favorite library book.

Maybe he just likes to read.

Or maybe he’s head over heels in love with her and he accidentally knocked her up on an official SGC mission and now he’s afraid to leave her anywhere in case something happens to her or the baby they barely agree exists.

He’s on the edge of digging out those bracelets she used on Jackson years ago.

“I just wanted to give you a heads up, son.” Landry clears his throat and there’s shuffling of papers. “If I were you, I’d sort this whole office assistant mess out as fast as possible and prepare for the IOA’s investigation.”

“Yes sir.” When a click on the other end of the line answers him, he pulls the phone away from his ear, presses it into his forehead, closing his eyes in a moment of peace.

This is probably the beginning of the end.

“Colonel Mitchell?” The private steps over the threshold and into his office, back straight, legs twitching.

“Yeah?”

“SG-1 radioed in from the P3X-842, the natives are overly hostile—”

“It was supposed to be an easy first contact.” Slams the phone back into the receiver, shooting up from his chair, forgetting about his thigh until the sharp pain bursts through it on his first step making his leg tighten. “Anyone hurt?”

“Dr. Jackson, well one of them, said everyone was fine so far, but that they were breaking for the gate. They’re coming in hot in less than ten minutes, Sir.”

“Have medical on standby.” Hobbles around the desk, his palm digging into his thigh as he tries to straighten his leg. “And tell Research and Development to be better at their damn jobs.”

*

Gets to the gateroom just before they all sprint through. Both Jacksons come through first, Teal’c positioned between them, his back still smoldering from an energy blast. It’s only a few seconds, but he doesn’t breathe until she backs her way through, gun still aiming at something following her.

Then, right before the portal closes, someone in heavy armor bursts in. By the time his hand falls to his holstered sidearm, she’s shot twice, and the lifeless body slides down the ramp.

Huffs in relief as she beams at him, lowering her weapon and almost skipping down the ramp by the crumpled pile of armor, a mixture of what looks like a Kull helmet and less extensive body plates. “Everyone okay?”

“Teal’c took a blast to the back.” One of the Jacksons explain as they stumble towards an awaiting stretcher from medical.

“You okay big guy?” Claps a hand down on Teal’c’s shoulder as he sits on the side of the stretcher, leaning forward to keep the pressure off his back. When he takes a quick glance, the wound is large, but also mostly cauterized, he’ll probably need just basic cleaning and some R and R.  

Teal’c is sweating and breathing heavily but manages to crack a small grin. “I believe it is only a flesh wound, Colonel Mitchell.”

“Good use of references, Buddy. And good to hear.” Pats Teal’c’s shoulder one more time, before four or more medical orderlies, begin to wheel him from the gateroom. It would probably just be easier if he walked, but protocols are protocols and what kind of example would he set if he went around breaking them all.

His eyes find her easily, weapon dangling at her side as she steps to the armor-covered body, first kicking their weapon away, and then winds up, punting them in the shoulder our of spite.  Next to the armor, to the large body, she looks like the orderlies do next to Teal’c, frantic and scrawny. Maybe not scrawny but definitely scrappy.

Grins a bit out of pride because his girl is tough, she can take care of herself, something she constantly reminds him of when he now frets over every single off-world mission she goes on. Might also grin because she’s so spunky, just kicking the shit out of the armored body with dainty little grunts.

One of the Jacksons notices the chuckle he stifles too late, and with a loud exhale, stands beside him. “That guy purposefully shot at her.”

Tries not to let it change his disposition. “Yeah?”

“It was weird.” The Jackson snatches his glasses off, using an already dirtied rag to clean them. The other Jackson trails along behind Teal’c who has only just made it into the hallway. “He had a better shot at me, or even Teal’c, but he only aimed at her.”

“She okay?”

Jackson settles the glasses back on his face and then rolls his eyes at Vala kicking the armored person again. Points to his bicep as he turns to tail the other Jackson. “Grazed in the arm, I think. Everything happened too fast.”

Nods, walking in the opposite direction, the muscles in his thigh still tight, still solid every time his foot hits the floor. “Vala,” calls to her as she’s about to give another kick, her head perks up and she grins at him, still a bounce in her step.

His intentions are to remain professional until they fully disclose their relationship, but he can see the barely there wisps of smoke pluming from the singed jacket material by her arm. Drops his head, trying to will away the irritation he feels, the infuriation, the fear. “What happened?”

Spins back towards the armored body and then back to him, a full grin still gracing her face. “I wanted to make sure he was—”

“Your arm?”.  

“It’s just a graze,” she reassures flapping out of her jacket, stretching out her arm, showing him the wound that’s already been cauterized by the energy. It’s about two inches wide and almost perfectly uniform.

Sets the weight of her arm in his hand, and ghosts his thumb over the scabbing wound, his fingers curling into her skin, hot from running, from adrenaline. Just a few inches. A few inches and it would’ve been through her chest. “Go to medical.”

“Cameron, what—”

“Go get that cleaned up by medical.” Turns away from her because he can’t not think about how just a few inches saved her life, how the majority of the energy blast miraculously made it between her extended arm and the side of her torso. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Talk about what?” Her voice is a little louder than it should be, firearm still swinging from her good arm as she marches after him now, the bounce dead in her steps. “I did my job efficiently and properly, this was—”  

Maybe it’s the constant buildup of job-related stress, maybe it’s the fact that ninety-nine percent of that stress stems from her going out into unknown dangers every time she crosses the event horizon, or maybe it’s how when she falls into her defensive mode she talks around his emotions. Whatever it is, it makes him pivot back towards and snap, “You shouldn’t be doing this job.”

She shouldn’t, not now, she should be somewhere safe on the mountain translating Goa’uld dialects, or helping the Jacksons in their lab, or breaking into the cafeteria after it closes and if she were anyone else in the world, that’s where he would’ve sent her.

As the shock drains from her face, quickly replaced by anger, he lowers his voice to a growl that rumbles from somewhere in the back of his throat. “Not right now.”

She sets her jaw, and as her eyes narrow, he doesn’t think she’s scrawny or scrappy anymore, because she is definitely going to ream him out in front of everyone in the gateroom. He doesn’t care because after Landry and the IOA are through with them, he probably won’t have much say, but for now he has the authority and he’s benching her from all off-world missions.

Before she lays into him and they start what would probably be one of the better fights of their relationship—at least he didn’t leave her on the base this time—the armored body behind her shudders to life, with a disorientating shake of their head.  

Tugs her behind him, while she readies her P90 along with the rest of the armed soldiers in the gateroom. The mountain of black armor sways to their feet, holding their hands up slowly, before reaching to unclasp the helmet.

Doesn’t know who he expects to find, probably some low-level Goa’uld sympathizer working for Athena on the trap planet they fell into on some bad intel from the Research and Development department which, now that he thinks about it, has more than likely been compromised.

But nothing is as jarring as who greets them.

“Hi Honey.”

Vala groans behind him, and the clacking of most weapons being holstered echoes throughout the room. “What are you doing here, Jacek?”  

“Well, I just had some information I thought you’d want to hear.” Her dad’s voice is strained as he bends, setting the helmet on the ground and beginning to pull off pieces of the armor. He cranes his head up when she doesn’t answer him. “You can lower your gun now, Sweetie.”

“I’ll keep it as is, thank you.”

“Vala?” His hand curls around her arm, her bad arm, the one still pulled tight and aiming. Gets her frustration but not the violence, last time they met, Jacek wasn’t dangerous, just annoying.

She stands straight, blinking back a tear and shaking her head to knock the hair back from her face. “Why did you shoot me?”

And he’s ready to turn his gun on her dad without another word. The two or three inches that spared her life, the energy blast that grazed her arm, came from him.

“Honey, Daddy had to keep his cover.”

“You could have—” Her sentence ends abruptly, and in the briefest of touches, her hand skims her stomach, the black shirt still doing a good job of hiding the barely there curve of her stomach. When her eyes flicker back up, the anger is renewed, the gun in her hand shaking from intensity, from stress. Her voice isn’t sweet and lilted, but drips from the corner of her mouth. “You have no idea what you—”

He stretches to the nearest solider with nonlethal weaponry, motioning for the Zat, needing to stop the situation before she escalates more. Turning back, he shoots Jacek who continues to talk down to her, not realizing how serious she is.

Not aware of the damage he could have caused.

As her father crumples to the floor, guards swarm him, holding him up, much like the Jacksons just did for Teal’c.

“Sir?”

“Take him to the brig. Let me know when he wakes up, he has a few questions to answer.”

She snuffles beside him, her shaky arm relaxing at her side. He waits for her to say something, but she just watches as the soldiers drag her father’s unconscious body from the room.

“Vala?”

Shoves her P90 against his thigh, pressing until he takes it from her, then in the same daze, turns and begins walking from him, stopping only a few steps away. Clasps her hand over the wound in her arm, and stares at the floor as she addresses him, “I’m going to medical.”

*

He gets to go interrogate Jacek. Her dad doesn’t look up as he enters the room and shows no signs of regret, or even respect while he continues to fiddle with his cuffs. The empty chair grinds off the concrete floor when he yanks it from the table, and only then does he look up, hiding his now loosely cuffed hands in his lap.

Slaps his clipboard onto the table and nods to where he thinks the camera is. He’s not too good at this interrogation thing, mostly because he’s smack dab in the middle of good cop and bad cop. If it’s a guy, Vala usually does the interrogations because her technique of batting her eyelashes and swiveling her hips, usually gets men to talk a lot quicker than Teal’c’s whispered threats while he’s too midline to either be threatening or friendly. “You don’t need another pair of cuffs, do you?”

“I don’t know why you put me in these things to begin with.” Jacek holds up his hands and when the one cuff falls off he quickly hides them again. “I surrendered willingly. I’m not a threat.”

When he was head of SG-1 and responsible for the others, anytime something in his plan went wrong and someone else payed the price for it, he could almost drown in his guilt. Now that SG-1 is fifty percent Jacksons, there’s no leader, but it’s still his plans. If he hadn’t been tired from reviewing all the shit going on with Gloria—who Vala flawlessly took down while feverish and on medication and he’s not sure why more people aren’t commenting on that—he would have reviewed the plans from Research and Development more closely, realized the planet was still Goa’uld ruled and avoided the whole thing.

Without a change in his pitch, without a flicker of emotion on his face, he reminds, “you shot Vala.”

“Oh with this again—you people are like a bunch of broken records.” Jacek’s hands hit the table for emphasis and there’s no signs of any cuffs. “Just bring her here, I’ll explain everything. Plus we have some catching up to do.”

“It’s been almost five years.”

“Okay, a lot of catching up to do then.”

“Well, she’s in medical getting the wound you gave her cleaned up.” Clicks on his pen and leans back in the seat waiting for a reason to keep Jacek around, because as of now, he’s getting his ass booted back out the gate tonight.

“I’ll just wait for her then.”

“That might not work.” Stretches his leg forward feeling the familiar creak in his thigh and his hip until there’s a small pop and the pain decreases a bit. “Because she doesn’t want to see you.”

Jacek copies his lax attitude, leaning back in the chair and strumming his fingers against the tabletop, silently bragging. “I’ll wait.”

“See, we don’t have that kind of time.” Feeling a bit better and trying to find his interrogation level, he leans forward and in a threatening whisper borrowed from Teal’c, he explains, “right now it looks like you’re going head first through that stargate in less than an hour, so you might want to try to change my mind.”

Jacek grins and it isn’t so much cheesy anymore as it is annoying. “It’s a Goa’uld run planet.”

“We already know that.”

“The planet has a high naquadah supply, Athena shares—”

“Athena?” Swallows hard because once she didn’t come back. She always came back until she didn’t and when she finally did she wasn’t the same, frail without admitting it, aching without showing it, overcompensating with him until she was no longer interested. Worse now, as much as he hates to admit it, but still worse.

If Athena gets her again, it’s his whole family gone.

“Are you okay?” Jacek leans forward in his chair, his eyebrows raising with his question.

“Fine.”

“Because your hands are red.” Her dad points to where his balled fists sit on the tabletop. He clears his throat and shakes out his fingers to get feeling back in them. “Say are you the doctor fellow, or the army one?”

“What?”

“Forgive me, but last time you two boys looked so much alike, it was hard for me to tell you apart.”

“I’m—” he sighs into his hand, physically and emotionally tired of their exchange already because he just might be the one getting interrogated. “—the army one.”

“Damn, the doctor fellow is better.”

“Well.” That’s a good place to end it. He slaps the table as he stands and straightens out his leg, only limping on the first step. “There’s two of them now, so you can double your fun.”

“I just mean—” Jacek stands and two guards open the door, not so much rush into the room as they hold their position, ready to intercept. “—doesn’t she trust the doctor fellow? I thought he might be able to talk her into seeing me.”

He scratches _talk to her deadbeat dad_ off his to-do list. “She’ll see you if she wants to, Jacek.”

*

The pass to her room works fine and he’s a little surprised, not that Vala has the authority to change his entry clearance, but she has the know how to rig up something to make her door refuse him. After everything that’s happened today, he figures that she’ll probably want to spend the night by herself. Can’t image what it’s like to be shot by a parent, but then again, he’s always had a good relationship with his folks. One she adopts when he brings her home for a few days at Christmas or over the weekend for Thanksgiving. His mom knits her the ugliest sweaters he’s ever seen, and she wears them with such pride, strutting around their house once they get back because his folks love her too.

They’d probably be over the moon about the baby.

Which is why he’s here.

He thinks it’s been an entire trimester, if he’s done the math right. That’s enough time to decide, and by not deciding she sort of decided. They need to make concrete plans, they need to have each other’s backs in this because once the IOA gets involved it’s going to get messy.

She’s angled over her tented legs, chin on her knees as she carefully brushes color onto her toenails. It’s a little harder for her to do now, she’s readjusts, aware that he’s there, and then stretches out her back, readjusting again. Her back as been more strained lately, he doesn’t know if it’s because of something Athena did, or an older injury, or just the strain of her body supporting the baby.

He clears his throat so that they can talk before his burst of courage disappears. So afraid of her leaving, but there needs to be clarity and if she runs, that’s pretty clear.  

Her eyes flick to him, and she shows none of the adoration he’s used to seeing from her after she returns from a mission, even one as botched as this one.

With her not willing to initiate the conversation, he takes a step closer. “What did medical say?”

Exhales harshly and sets her jaw, her chin still balancing on her knee, and maybe he led with the wrong question because she recaps the nail polish. “Is this how the next months will be, Cameron? With you always watching over my shoulder, policing what I do?”

“Well, to be fair, I always checked up on you, even before you became, how did you put it? ‘Unceremoniously pregnant’ with my kid.” She’s full out glaring at him, not the playful kind where she feigns being angry with him until he buys her ice cream or lets her pick the radio station or takes her out to dinner.

It’s how they have to have this conversation.

She has reservations about the baby, fears about the baby from bad memories, from bad experiences that she doesn’t want to talk about with him, with Lam, with the SGC trauma psychologist. Maybe she’d talk to Sam, but she isn’t due back for a few more weeks. So he’ll have to try pissing her off to get some goddamn answers.

He can be bad cop.

“And to answer your question, I guess I’ll only be policing if you decide to—”

Must see where his train of thought is going because she chucks the capped polish across the room, it slams onto her dresser top, skipping into several framed pictures of SG-1, of him and her, crashing them to the floor.

“That was completely—” wants to say it’s an overreaction, wants to call her childish, because she can’t admit to responsibility and maybe that’s one of the reasons why she doesn’t want to acknowledge her pregnancy, the permanent idea of a child they’re going to have to take care of indefinitely, something to anchor her in place, or at least to him.

But she interrupts him with a loud sob, one that resonates through her entire body until she bows her head to her knees, hiding within the loop of her own arms.

He’s bad at bad cop.

“Hey.” Speeds to her, untangling her arms as she lets out another loud sob, and leans her head against his ribs as he tries to calm her with caresses because his words are lost in her wails.

Shifts to his knees so he can be more level with her. Ignores the pain, trying to balance more on his good thigh. Kisses her forehead and bows his head against hers.

It takes a few minutes for her breathing to even out, until she’s not hyperventilating, but her body still trembles against his and she sniffs, running the back of her hand underneath her nose in a stuttered movement. She curves against him, resting her head on his shoulder, wet face pressing against his neck. “I’m exhausted, Cameron.”

“Lay back.”

“I don’t want—”

Kisses her lips, a distraction as he lets go of her arms, afraid she’s going to flutter away. “Just relax.”  

Tugs the comforter back and lets her crawl under the sheets and when he goes to leave, to let her rest, she snatches his hand keeping him in place. “What are we going to do?”

Sighs and rubs her thigh under the comforter, watches as she fights sleep to have this conversation with him. “I don’t know, Princess, it’s your decision.”

“No. No.” Waves a hand at him and then rests it against his knee. “I mean what are we going to _do_?”

“I still don’t—”

“They’re going to take your house. Take our jobs. You’ll probably court marshalled, I’ll be sent to Area 51 to rot. The IOA will—”

Slips a hand forward, blanketing her stomach and the dip. “You want it?”

She doesn’t answer him, but she doesn’t stray his hand, just blinks away her gaze to the dresser. “What are we going to do?”

“Everything will be fine.” Leans across the bed, resting on his elbows and talking a bit to their baby, because he can now. “We’ll figure it out.”

“It’s going to be a hybrid, Cameron.” Still stares at the mess her outburst made, but her fingers preen through his hair in gentle strokes. “That doesn’t go over well here.”

“Vala.” Pulls his legs onto the bed laying flush beside her, collecting her, just holding her. Feeling complete for the first time in three months. The relief is euphoric. “We have family here. Allies everywhere. We have options and people who have our backs.”

“Yes, and perhaps bringing a child into a situation in which I need protection isn’t the best idea.”

Traces his fingers down her arm, over the freshly bandaged portion. “You know I’d protect you. I’d protect them.”

She pushes back against his chest and stares him down, suddenly unwavering. “I will not give birth in captivity again.”

“You’re not going to.”

“I promise you, no one will take another of my children.”

And it’s so easy for him to forget about Adria because he wasn’t there. Didn’t see them steal away the newborn, or Vala fight to get her back to the SGC, constantly suggest ways normal missions could shift into rescue missions because even though her daughter was an adult hellbent on conquering the universe, she never gave up.

He kisses her and feels the stress of the last three months begin to wane. Her fingers trace the collar of his shirt as her eyes grow heavy again and he stays stationary until her hands slows, then drops from his chest.

Tries to be nimble when he disengages from her, but the moment he gets up from the bed, the lack of his weight bounces the mattress and she groans, her hand on the small of her back. “Cameron?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you find me that pillow?”

“Yeah.” Knows the one she wants, the one he bought for her. It’s designed for between her legs to ease the strain in her back.

Cranes his neck to check the end of the bed and finds it toppled over the edge. Grabs the corner, tossing it into his vacated spot. She hums in approval, pulling back the sheets and positioning the pillow, shimmying her hips until she’s comfortable.  

Just watches her, because she’s sleepy and content and beautiful and they’re going to have a baby.

They’re going to have a baby. The second time he thinks it, it’s a lot scarier.

Sits on the side of the bed, tucking the blanket in around her. “I think it goes without saying that you’re grounded from off-world missions now.”

In half wakefulness she answers, “then I think it also goes without saying that we’re going to need to explain to Landry the reason why.”

Ignores her answer, because they’ve been focusing on the negative for so long, been stuck in a relationship limbo for so long, that he just wants to enjoy this. “You want me to come get you for supper? I think we should go out and celebrate.”

Must realize he’s on his way out because her hand swats blinding through the air at half her normal energy. “Stay.”

“I can’t, Princess.” Catches her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, tempted to just do what she asks and sit back down on the bed. “I have to go kick your dad’s ass out of here.”

“Leave it for tomorrow, Darling.” So tired her words are starting to come out as muffled slurs. She roots down in the bed more, her hand becoming heavier in his. “I want to speak with him in the morning.”

*

They’re at the door when he cuts in front of her, turning to face her, his arms crossed over his chest. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

She smiles, small but thoughtful, her mouth sort of skewing to the side and he thinks this is the expression that did him in four years ago. Her fingers tuck into the dip of his elbow trying to reassure him now. “I think I need to do this.”

“Okay.” Nods, his jaw clenching because he really didn’t want her here. Gets that she’s trying again to right wrongdoings she did years ago, sometimes not even as herself, but it’s added emotional stress at this point. “Want me to come with you?”

“Not unless you particularly want to.” Half laughs, turning to the brig door and keying in the code. He never gave her the code, but he’s not surprised she found it without his help.

“I do.”

“Cameron—”

“Hey, you can talk to my folks whenever you want. This might be the last time I get to see my father-in-law.”

She rolls her eyes and it’s all for show, he knows it is because this time it makes his stomach light, makes him get that excited feeling back. “I haven’t said yes.”

Leans into the shoulder of the wall, complimenting her sly grin with his own as the brig doors whoosh open. “You will.”

Doesn’t have a rebuttal for him, and it can only be a good sign. She takes two steps into the room and then beckons him with a slow wave of her finger.

Jacek sits at the interrogation table, decked out in a navy-blue fatigue jumpsuit, leaning sideways into the back of the chair. He’s not wearing handcuffs anymore and it’s obvious where she gets her escape artist tendencies from.

When Jacek sees her, he sits up straight, his face lighting up with a bright grin, not hers as she’s told him before, she gets that from her mother. “Vala, Honey.”

“Jacek.” She greets, not entirely as cold as she can be, he’s heard colder greetings from her directed at him, and she actually likes him.

“You still won’t call me dad?”

“You still haven’t earned it.”

“Oh Sweetie, you gotta learn not to take everything as a grudge.”

“If I was holding a grudge, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Then why’d you bring the Army One with you?” Jacek points at him from across the table and she tenses in her chair beside him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She slams her hands into the metal table top leaving phantom handprints from her clammy palms.  “You shot me.”

“That’s hardly a bee sting.”

“You. Shot. Me.”

“I told you, Daddy had to keep his cover. If the Goa’uld knew you were my daughter, they would’ve—”

“They don’t care about you, Jacek.” Exhales, her hand resting on her head. She glances over to him for support, for something, and he nods, whatever she wants to say, she should say. “This faction of the Goa’uld currently have a bounty out on my head.”

“Vala, I would never—how much?”

He’s never seen her get shot. Saw her die hundreds of times when one was too much, and never actually saw her take the blast. But the expression she’s wearing, how her face completely falls at his words, and her eyes grow big and glassy as she blinks away from her father, from him, all he can think of is her hurt by a bullet.

Hurt by the words.

In another blink the expression fades from her face and out of eyesight she taps him three times on his good thigh, a signal they use in missions, or at his parents, or in situations they just don’t generally feel comfortable in. “We should go.”  

Jacek shoots up when they stand. “Vala, that’s not what I meant.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I meant if the bounty is high enough, we can pull a switcheroo and—”

Whips around, her pigtails rotating so fast he has to duck. “You would honestly endanger my life to make a profit?”

“You wouldn’t be in danger, more like at risk and—” When she starts walking for the door again, his words get faster, slicker. “Sweetie, you know the old bait and switch, you’ve been doing it since you could walk. You wouldn’t get—”

“It is bad enough that you gambled with my life.” Raises a hand to pound on the door, her hand as red as his yesterday. Slowly, she lowers it, grazing his as she turns, staring her father directly in the eyes. “But it’s not just my life we’re gambling with anymore.”

“Hey, if you want to invite Army One in on the plan, I’m fine with—”

“I’m pregnant, Jacek.”

And for the first time since he’s regained consciousness, her father stops talking. Just stands in the middle of the interrogation room, his eyes staring off into space. “You’re—”

“Pregnant,” answers for her. Not sure if it’s what she wanted, but she left a big enough pause for him to jump in.

“Oh Honey.” Jacek beams, and it reaches his eyes, and he still can’t see Vala in it. “That’s fantastic. I’m going to be a grandpa.”

“You have at least seven other children that I know of, one of them must have procreated by now.”

“Oh all of them, but I don’t really care about them.” Waves them off as he takes another step forward, grinning and it’s a little unsettling, because he hasn’t figured out how a grandchild is useful to Jacek, and if it has anything to do with money, he doesn’t want to know. “You were always my favorite.”

She nods solemnly a few times, her teeth sinking into her lip. “I think we’re done here.”

“Don’t go yet, Vala, don’t—” when she pounds her hand so hard into the metal, he’s afraid she’s broken it, her father just nods. “Well, if you’re ever on the outer plants drop me a line, let me know when the little sucker is born, and I’ll come visit.”

Outside the room she leans back against the doors. The guards eye her questionably, but he just nods reassurance at them. She grabs at his hand, still blinking away tears because what her dad is offering, they both know will never happen. She’ll never trust him enough, aware now that everything Jacek spoke of about the Goa’uld planet was a lie in order to work the bounty con with her.

Through the solid metal they can still make out his rambling voice. “Jacek is a great name for a boy or a girl. In fact, you were almost named Jacek until I talked your mother out of it—”  

*

“We have nothing for breakfast tomorrow.” He runs around the bedroom picking up his boxers and socks off the floor, not even looking as he balls them and chucks them into the hamper. Grabs a pair of her cotton shorts from beneath the dresser and flicks a pair of her red lacy underwear out from under the edge of his bed.

“It’s fine, Darling.” She’s tucked underneath the blankets, aware of his frantic cleaning, but eyes trained on the news playing on the TV. “Are there really places that enslave these animals?”

“What?” Glances up at the screen and it’s a report about Seaworld and he hate it when she watches stuff like this because she ends up cranky and crying. “Honey, you gotta—”

“We should stop them. We have authority, right?” Brings her knees up against her chest though the action is stunted and he allows himself a brief smile for the reason why.

“We deal in aliens, not animal cruelty cases.” Dusts off the top of his dresser. She made him fire the housekeeper. They’re here too often now for having one to make sense.

 “Shouldn’t we be dealing with enslavement and violence and hunger on this planet before we go off on ambassador missions to others.” In the last two weeks she’s become very pensive, very sober and thoughtful about more issues. Maybe she was always this way in her inner monologue, and now she’s just started sharing it with him.

“Well then we’d be out of a job.”

“I’d much prefer to be out of a job.” She’s not upset, but it’s said with a sigh, maybe just frustrated, maybe just tired.

“Why don’t we focus on one issue at a time.” Plops down on the other side of the bed, sort of leaning in on his elbows, stretching out his legs across the floor. He drops a hand to her stomach nestled under the blankets. “Like my pregnant wife has nothing to eat for breakfast tomorrow.”

Side-eyes him, but wears a very faint smile, one that he would’ve missed a couple of years ago. “I haven’t said yes, you know.”

“You will.” Her fingers drag through his hair and he captures her hand, kissing it before jumping up from the bed. “So, breakfast?”

“Commissary food is fine.”

“It’s not the healthiest.”

“Yet your military feeds it to your troops.”

“Hey.” He strips down and crawls into bed beside her. “When did they become my troops?”

“When I didn’t want them anymore.” She tucks against his side, her head resting against his shoulder as he reaches and turns off the television, glad to get the news away.

His arm wraps around her back, resting on her hip just shy of her stomach. Doesn’t know if she feels the hesitation in his fingertips, but her hand strokes his ribs and the sensation, her body against his, calms him. “We need to be on base by six tomorrow.”

Leans over, his lips moving against her forehead as he questions, “why?”

“Apparently I’m entering another trimester.” Cranks his neck as he shifts away from her trying to gauge if she’s being truthful, if she’s joking or playing him. She only stares at him, eyes wide in alert before reverting to half-lidded fatigue. A palm to his shoulder, she guides him back to the bed, and reclaims her position using his shoulder as a pillow. Once settled she mumbles, “Carolyn wants to do another ultrasound.”

He loves her.

Would love her despite her choice, and he knows her choice was hard, the constant hardship of being her, of having a broken and reassembled body, of having intruders, alien or otherwise, enter her and leave parting gifts meant to kill her.

Knows she’s doing it now, they’re doing it now, and he needs to know why.

“Are you doing this for me?”

There’s a long pause and her breathing is gentle and even, so he thinks she might be asleep, but she squirms against his side, crooking her head under his chin. “They deserve a chance, Cameron. I’m doing it for them.”

*

Sometimes they make it through the night without her waking and screaming, without him talking her down from standing on the dresser, or him coaxing her from the hall closet. Sometimes he just talks to her. Sometimes he reads to her from Alice in Wonderland while she screams and sobs until her ears pick up on the words and she settles, eyes wild like an animal, but she settles.

Tonight, she doesn’t wake him up.

Tonight, a resonating pounding on his front door draws him out of a deep sleep. As his eyes flick open, she jumps up from spooning him to standing in the middle of the dark bedroom, head snapping around trying to locate the source of the noise, while working herself into a corner, trying to ensure her safety.

In the weak streetlight he can’t tell, but he thinks her hand is on her stomach.

“What’s that?”

“It’s just someone at the front door,” he groans tossing his feet over the side of the bed and yanking on his boxers and a t-shirt. She stands stationary, like if she moves, she’ll be targeted. “I’ll get it, you’re okay. Hop back in bed.”

She nods, gripping the abandoned blankets when another loud burst of pounding booms from his front door. She recoils, dangerously close to crawling up on top of his dresser. “Honey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

He crouches beside her, petting the hair back out of her face. Her eyes aren’t as wild as they can be, but they’re flitting around adjusting to the darkness, aware of the way the shadows of the trees outside dance across the floor with the wind, the way the ceiling fan lazily loops.

Grabs her pillow, the one he bought her, that has again jumped from the end of the bed and onto the floor, handing it to her. “Stay here, okay?”

She nods, and her eyes calm as she traces his movements through the room. Then there’s another pound at the front door and she jumps back up again, the pillow level with her stomach.

“For fuck’s sake. I’m coming okay—”

As he moves through the dining room into the living room, the front door bursts open, locks cracking and hanging on its hinges. He stops counting as four men enter, three with tactical gear and masked faces, guns drawn at him.

The last one is Woolsey.

“Woolsey, what the fuck.” They train flashlights on him and he winces, throwing an arm up to cover his eyes.

“Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell,” Woolsey greets, his hands clasping behind his back, his stature straight and his chin sort of angled up. “You and Ms. Mal Doran are required to come with me at once.”

“You ever heard of a phone?” Holds his hand out shooing away the lights and when Woolsey nods, the lights train to the floor. “Aww, man, look at my front door.”

“It’s not your front door, it’s Stargate Command’s.”

“Look is there a reason for this house call?” Doesn’t even deny that she’s not there because she is and she’s probably locked herself in the bathroom and hidden in the cupboard under the sink.

“You’ll find out soon enough. Go retrieve Ms. Mal Doran and we’ll be on our way.”

“No, you tell me—”

“If you do not go get her, I will be forced to.”

Now he’s fucking mad.

“Is that a threat? Because if—”

“Cameron?” She leans her head against the bedroom doorframe. She’s pulled on his gray hoodie but still only has a pair of boy shorts on. “What’s going on?”

“Ah Ms. Mal Doran.” Woolsey takes a large step forward and he takes one back towards her to keep more distance between them. “I’ll be taking you into custody.”

She turns to him, confused, waking up from her nightmare, just starting to clue in as one of the IOA soldiers grabs her arm. “Don’t touch—”

All of the guns click onto her as she wrenches her arm away from the soldier and it’s enough to make him freeze dead on the spot.

“Okay.” Raises his hands up as a gesture of surrender. “Okay.”

“Cameron?” His name is a disbelieving question because, yeah they could probably take all four of these morons, but then he’d be left to explain why, and he doesn’t think that all their connections would get them out of it, at least not together.

“Go with them, Princess.” She squints at him, still not fully understanding.

They march her out of their home. One soldier before her, one at her back with the sight of the gun never leaving her head. She glances back at him, but they prod her forward.

“You too, Colonel Mitchell.” Woolsey nods to the door and he ignores the slivers of broken wood scattered across the floor, walking as fast as he can without them thinking that he’s making a run for it.

They lead her to the back of a black van with tinted windows and spin her to cuff her hands behind her back. Wants to tell them it’s pretty much useless, but her eyes find him across the front lawn and she calls out to him. The first time holds the same confusion as before, but the second time is fearful. They shove her into the back of the van as she screams his name.

“Don’t worry.” The words aren’t loud enough for her to hear though, he can barely hear them over the sound of his own heart pounding.

“Colonel Mitchell, get into the car please.”

Vaguely aware of Woolsey’s demand, of the soldier at his back zip tying his hands together, but he takes another step as they slam the door shut in her face and he can’t see her anymore.

He can’t see her.

“I’ll find you.”

He’s yanked from his spot on his front lawn, the one he meant to mow, as the black van grumbles to life. His eyes don’t leave it, leave her puddled in the backseat behind tinted windows.

In the backfire of the van shifting into gear and speeding away he says it again. Shouts it this time, loud enough to wake the neighbors who already judge him and Vala for being loud.

“I’ll find you.”

And he will.

Because they always find each other.

 


	30. Him

He stares out the window, hands still zip tied behind his back, pressing a cheek against the cold glass trying to find some sight of the van. Beside him, Woolsey plugs his ear with a finger while on a call with Landry, had to call Landry because as the arresting IOA officer, Woolsey needs Landry’s permission to punish him, since the IOA and Military aren’t under the same sector yet.

If he wasn’t so scared of losing her, or even worse, of her coming back like she did after Athena, then he’d be more nervous about being discharged and stripped of rank. But since Woolsey hasn’t gotten in a word since the call started, and Landry’s voice is the type that carries, he can settle on just worrying about her.

The call ends in a burst of half-syllables from Woolsey, and an obvious, but untranslatable threat from Landry, just as the car pulls into the mountain. Woolsey turns his phone off with a grunt and shoves it back into his jacket pocket. “Well, you’ve certainly made quite an impression with General Landry.”

He doesn’t respond, like Woolsey didn’t the two dozen times he asked what they were going to do with her.

“He refuses to give me permission to discipline you.”

All he sees are the pot lights implanted in craggy rock and smudges on the window from his face.

The car halt appropriately at the drop off zone, not the secure area for unloading loose pistol prisoners. Since Woolsey can’t detain him, and since he has no superior pull over the military operations of the mountain, he is still technically in charge until Landry gets back from his redeye flight from Washington in the late morning.

Before exiting the car, Woolsey grunts again in frustration and slams the door. He has to wait, the back of the seat pressing into his knuckles until one of the supped-up soldiers opens the door for him, guiding him out and motions for him to turn around so he can cut the zip tie off.

He wiggles his fingers, bringing feeling back into them, and fights not to ask anymore questions. Knows a little about the Alien Act but didn’t know it was going to be enforced this soon. Didn’t know it would affect aliens already on Earth.

When he’s standing in the concrete doorway on his way to the elevators, Woolsey stops in the middle of the drop off zone, his voice echoing over the empty space, “Colonel Mitchell, I would strongly suggest you remain in your quarters until the time that General Landry arrives to relieve you of duty.”

Doesn’t say a word while he rubs his wrists and walks away from the man who hasn’t shut up since Landry hung up on him.

* * *

He does go to his quarters first, but it’s not so he can remain in exile over the next six or so hours. Grabs a change of clothes, the reliable blue fatigues that are running a little big on him since he doesn’t get the gym and jogging time he used to. Even the sparring sessions with Teal’c—Are they going to arrest Teal’c to? He’s an alien but has been with SGC longer than most humans.

“Dammit.” He snatches a pair of sweats from the drawers and wrings them in his hand as he paces the room.

He can’t focus on all the stupid mishaps the Alien Act is going to bring, because he always put her second for work. Practically used her as bait when exploring new planets and diplomatic alliances, sure it’s her job, and sure she loved doing it, but he can’t count how many times in almost five years he’s sat up late worrying that she wouldn’t get home. How many times she was late getting home and when he saw her, she looked like she’d been through hell.

How many times he could have gone out and dragged her ass back from a prison or a lair or wherever she was holed up and didn’t because he was listening to protocols that demand he put his country and planet before his family.

Tonight is the night that changes.

* * *

Carries the rolled pair of sweat pants down to the cafeteria and helps himself to a few things off the early morning pre-breakfast menu. Grabs a paper plate with two breakfast burritos, a bottle of water, and the last orange leftover from the overnight shift. Skips the coffee because he doesn’t want heartburn. Needs to be in shape, because he plans to wear his glasses while he runs around after a scrappy toddler who wields a baseball bat until he hears a stifled giggle from the kitchen window.

Cooks up an entire plan of how to break into a brig, but there are IOA guards posted around every corner. They stand ready, but don’t pay him attentions as he continues down the long white hallways leading down to the cells. Five rush by him, the static on their walkies crackling through that there’s an incident in the interrogation room.

There’s no way in hell he can break her out tonight, but he knows if she stews in there for too long, she’ll just break herself out, and that’s another thing they’ll have to do damage control for.  

Then he gets to her cell. He knows it’s her cell because it’s the only one with a guard posted in front of it. It’s either hers or Teal’c’s and he doesn’t think she’d require five additional guards during an interrogation.

It also happens that the guard posted at her door is a familiar face.

“Rodriguez?”

The former private’s eyebrows droop as he falls out of his straight-backed position against the wall, weapon resting against his side. Colonel Mitchell, what are you doing here?”

“Here to see Vala.”

“Sorry, man, I can’t let you in.” Shifts on his feet, trailing his eyes to another part of the hall. The weapon jostles as he brings it to rest in both hands, not meant for intimidation, but as a suggestion. “Protocol and all.”

“Since when do you care about protocol?”

“Maybe I changed since the IOA decided to give me more—”

“If you were such a stickler for protocol, you’d be addressing me as sir—”

“Well, sorry sir, but that Woolsey guy says that I can’t let anyone in or out of this room without—”

“Rodriguez, come on,” he groans because he can almost see the time he has the power, the persuasion, to be able to do this slipping away. “Look, if you let me in, I’ll give you one of the breakfast burritos. She probably won’t touch them anyway.”

Rodriguez’s squints his eyes, and drops his weapon back down, now examining him closely. “Why you need to see her so bad?”

There are so many answers he could say. So many that it’s a waste of time to go through them all. Instead his expression turns serious. “You know why.”

A slow, sly grin spreads across Rodriguez’s mouth and he steps out of the way. “Fine, man, but if they asked me how you got in there, I’m lying.”

* * *

The room is smaller than the one he set Jacek up in. Maybe he was trying to be nice to his would-be father-in-law, or maybe he’s just a more compassionate guy than Woolsey is. The room only has the basic amenities of a sink, a toilet, and a bed. Everything is white, and the lights are bright and glaring, reflecting off everything disrupting any calm.

Finds her asleep on the bed, on top of the covers, with her bare legs still tucked up into his hoodie. Sets the food in the basin of the sink and approaches her with a grin because they haven’t had a chance to process her yet.

Her sleep is restless, she squirms and tries to kick her foot, but it gets caught in the hem of his hoodie. He rubs a hand down her arm and presses his lips to her temple in what he thinks is a gentle wake up call.

“Princess, it’s—”

Before he can finish, her body tenses and then flies into a violent defense. The heel of her hand smashes into his collarbone and her foot rips out from underneath his hoodie to kick the side of his knee.

As he falls, she rises, bare legs sprouting out from beneath the sweater and feet slamming into the floor.  

He twists in pain, the collarbone thing was just a surprise, but the knee thing was too close to his bad thigh for it to not trigger the pre-existing ache. She looms above him, stern expression and fingers balled into fists, before recognition crosses her face and the hard angles of her body fade.

“Oh Darling.” Delicately flutters to her knees and places a cold hand on the hot side of his sweating face, before hooking the other underneath his arm, lugging him to stand. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” grunts, slapping his hand into the thin mattress, and planting the other on her shoulder to stabilize himself. Her hands wash over his skin, tickling into his hair and the refreshing familiarity of it lets him close his eyes briefly. “At least now I know you can take care of yourself.”

“But you’ve always known that.” She nuzzles into his neck, fingers floating down to entwine with his.

“I’ve known it, but never really believed it,” words mumbled into her hair. The hair she washed in their shower before she went to bed. He grabbed a towel fresh from the dryer for her and she cooed over his pampering and he wallowed in the domesticity of it. “You okay?”

She smiles, and he knows it’s fake. Knows that brand of smile is used to either diffuse a situation or redirect a line of questioning. The awkward shift of her body away from him only reaffirms her anxiousness. “Cameron—”

Stoops, keeps his aching leg straight as he picks up the sweats he brought for her and left on the ground after she knocked him down. “Tell me how you’re really doing.”

“Cold.”

“I got that.” Unfurls the sweats, stooping again, holding the pants for her to step into. She gives him a weak smile, pale legs slipping between the fleecy material. Ties the strings at her waist tucking his hoodie back down over her skin but lingers, leaning his head against her stomach. “What else?”

A deep growl interrupts her answer, something so basic and normal that it breaks the tension between them, his constant worry, her unspoken fear. Allowing them to share the same laugh.  

“Was that your stomach?”

“Yes.” Her fingers comb into his hair, relaxing him further.

“Hungry?”

“Very.”

“Didn’t they bring you breakfast?”

“They haven’t brought me anything.”

Knew her needs weren’t going to be a top priority for the IOA, but it’s not an excuse that makes him any less upset because the entire situation is so stupid. Stands slowly, his leg still creaking, and grabs the food where he stashed it in the sink. “You should eat.”

She eyes the breakfast burritos, now cold and rubbery because she’s never liked eggs. Reluctantly, she takes the paper plate from him, now soaked through with oil, and perches on the edge of the bed. “You know, I went three days in the square in Ver Isca—”

“I know you can take care of yourself, but I also don’t think the Ori have this kid’s back.” Plops down beside her, grabbing the orange and peeling it for her.

They sit in silence as she picks at the burrito but devours the orange slices he places on the plate. Their time is waning, and he has no idea what’s going to happen next. For the last eight years they’ve given up any semblance of a life for the SGC and he tries to remain optimistic, loyal to the feeling that the program they’ve dedicated so much to will have their backs.  

As he sets the last piece of orange down on the plate, her fingers still. Assumes she’s full or has an upset stomach from the acid, but in a bare whisper she acknowledges, “I’m scared, Cameron.”

Remembers when she was in that chamber with an electrical charge microwaving her organs and that was worse than this. That was definitely worse than this.

Retrieves the paper plate from her lap as the corners of her lips start to twitch. He sets it on the ground, embracing her just as she starts to grow glassy eyed. “Honey, it’s okay. We got this.”

“Oh we so do not have this—” Knows that it’s hard for her to talk about most things—the baby, her fears, her fears about the baby—he needs her to talk to him now because as stealthy as she is at breaking out of prisons and as high as he is in the SGC food chain, he doesn’t know when he’ll get to see her again. So when she tries to stand, to pace away from him, he catches her hand to keep her close.

“We have people here, family, friends, co-workers, who’ll back us. They’ll fight for us.”

“Then why haven’t they yet?”

“Because it’s not the right time.”

“And when will be the right time? When I’m tossed into Area 51 and our child is reared by the militaristic—”

“Hey, hey, hey.” The flush creeping onto her skin isn’t sexual or cute, but the one from yesterday when she wouldn’t lower the P90 from Jacek. “You know I would never let that happen.”

Fingers try to erase her tension, caress over her knuckles until she takes a step closer to him still sitting on the edge of the bed. His arms curl around the small of her back and he holds an ear to her stomach again.

Her hands don’t return the caresses, instead staying stiff at her side, but her voice loses its edge. “Who said you were alive in this scenario?”

“Oh, so I’m just dead?”

Feels an exhalation deflate her body, and her fingers return to trace behind his ear. “Went down rather quickly. It really was quite embarrassing.”

He hears the smile in the lilt of her voice.

He’s scared to death, terrified because, yeah, they have friends that are so close they’re practically a second family, and, yeah, that family might include a set of clones, but they’ve always had their backs. But she’s here and he’s here and he can’t shake the feeling that this is the last time they’re going to be a family.

But for her, he distracts himself, finds the good in the bad. “At least I have my heir to try and clear my name.”

“Oh.” Flicks his ear, but her stomach flutters with laughter. “They’re your heir now, are they?”

“Gonna have my last name, so yeah.”

“Mitchell Mal Doran does have a nice ring.”

“Honey, we’re already stacking the bricks against this kid before they’re even born, don’t give them a crazy ass long name to spell.”

“Your right. Mal Doran is simpler.”

Fights the grin from his face because she’s doing the same thing as him, using antics as a distraction, her playfulness as a method to ground them outside of the current situation. Just sitting in the military brig with his pregnant alien girlfriend talking about their future kid.

“Why do they automatically get your name?”

Her hand stills on the back of his neck and the tingling through his skin from her loving pets disappears. Doesn’t offer him an answer until he tilts his head up, trying to view her from under the loose material of the oversized hoodie.

“Because we’re not married.”

“You gotta be kidding me.” Shakes his head with a dry laugh, playing along with her game because it’s better sitting and worrying. “I’ve asked you like ten times to marry me.”

“Yes, but from what I understand of Tau’ri engagements, there’s supposed to be a big spectacle behind the event, and I’m sure if you want to marry me, you would know me, Darling.” She pinches his nose, swaying his head, teasing him in a patronizing voice, “and if you know me, then you ought to know I’m a big fan of big spectacles.”

“Oh I know it, Princess.” She smacks a kiss onto the top of his head and unhooks his arms from around her, flopping down onto the bed beside him. His hand rubs over the top of her thigh reassuringly. “I’ll take money out of the baby fund to hire some skywriters and acrobats.”

“Baby fund?”

“Yeah, I started setting aside some money when you told me you were pregnant.”

Rests her head against his shoulder, touching her stomach thoughtfully. “You wanted this child that badly?”

“I wanted you and for you to be happy. And to be prepared with whatever—”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Stills his hand against her thigh, not gripping but not light. It’s one of those things he wasn’t going to tell her until Cam Jr. was in college. That he always wanted the baby, that it would have stung a bit if she decided she didn’t, even though he gets her reasoning. That something needed to get their asses off this mountain and away from the constant threat of active duty and he’s glad it’s whoever he gets to meet in a few months.

Resting his cheek atop her head he mumbles, “Yeah I did.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Yes,” lifts her head, arching her back out while she yawns. “Now I know when I get fat, you won’t leave me.”

“I’d never leave you—” Wants to add ‘willingly’ at the end but decides to keep it light, needs to keep it light.

She shifts on the bed. Maneuvering his arm and sneaking underneath it to rest her head in his lap just like they’re back home. A home he no longer owns. A home with no door, no government sanctioned housekeeper, no royal purple guestroom and a printed-out label in stark black letters for the switch over the sink so she doesn’t lop off a hand while doing the dishes.

A home he wanted to teach their kid how to play baseball in the backyard of as Vala tended to six foot sunflowers.

“Cameron?”

“Yeah?”

“I will not birth another child in captivity.” She’s asleep almost immediately after her reminder, arms cushioned under her head, and just at peace.

He’s not.

One of his hands brushes through her hair, and the other covers her hip.  

“I know.”

* * *

“What’s this one called?” Vala calls to him across the produce section of the grocery store.

He glances up from grabbing a bundle of bananas, trying to guess whether she’ll eat none, or one, or four of them. They haven’t been dating more than a month and the few nights she’s spent at his place she’s annihilated his supply of fresh fruits and veggies that he keeps around for his post-jog protein shakes. He’s afraid that if she finds out the protein powder he uses is vanilla flavored, he might pop out of the shower one day and just find her shoveling it into her mouth.

With an eggplant in her palm, classy like it’s a skull and she’s in a Shakespeare play, she calls to him again, balancing it perfectly and to his defense he makes it halfway over to her before the jets turn on and blast down a quick spurt of water onto all the produce.

She yips, the eggplant rolling lopsidedly from her hand and across the ground to the side of his cart. Snatching it up from the ground, he huffs over to her. “It’s an eggplant,” he grumbles while setting it back on the pile of a dozen other identical eggplants, then catching her by the arm, he leans in reminding, “and can you try to be less conspicuous?”

Both palms land on the side of his face as she beams at him, kissing him quickly before turning in his grasp. “I’m sorry, Darling, but this is just so exciting. An indoor food market with goods from all around your planet.”

“Yeah grocery shopping’s a real treat. Vala, listen—”

But she takes off again, bounding down the aisle picking up a brownish purple chunk he’s never even seen before. It kind of looks like a beet. She uses both hands this time, cradling it as she showcases it for him. “What’s this one?”

“I don’t know.” Directs her to the side so another cart can pass, the woman gives them a strange expression that he tries to ignore. When he looks back to Vala, she’s still bright eyed and bouncing. With a sigh he tries to explain more gently, “Honey, look, if you blow our cover the first night we actually get out together than—”

“Cam? Cam Mitchell?” The woman who passed them doubles back with her cart and Vala takes the distraction as an excuse to further explore. “Is that you?”

Taking a second glace at her, he realizes he knows the woman, knows her really well. “Oh hey, Lucy. How’s it going?”

“Not too bad.” She looks a lot different, a lot older than he remembers but it’s been years since they were together—shit. Lucy’s brother and cousin both work at the mountain, different areas, but it’s not likely that they haven’t heard of SG-1 or Vala.

They’re in a precarious place, they’re both acting on feelings they’ve let stew for too long and their relationship is either overly physical and passionate, or reserved because they’re still learning each other. He doesn’t really want to know how she’d react to meeting on of his exes.

“Are you still working at the mountain?”

“Oh yeah, but they’re transferring me upstairs in a few months.” Crosses his arms, vaguely aware of his alien girlfriend running around the store, she’s probably shoved more than one stolen thing in her pants and then he thinks about her in those jeans, and then without those jeans on and Lucy is still looking at him. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” she chuckles leaning into her cart a bit, her almost empty cart save for one premade chicken. “I was just saying it’s my last night in Colorado Springs.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I got an editing job in San Francisco.”

“That’s great, you always—”

“Cameron.” Vala beckons him in a sweet singsong tone, the one he’s recognized means that she’s going to ask for something she thinks is extravagant like to commandeer an al’kesh to go to her favorite off-world market for a certain flavor of gum or to buy a yacht so they can sail around Earth so she can see all the planet has to offer.

But he’s learning that sometimes what she thinks is extravagant isn’t to him.

Like socks.

Extra socks.

She wears two pairs of socks in the winter.

“Oh hello,” she greets Lucy with a smile and holds up the weird thing from before. “It says this is a rutabaga. If you’ve never had one and I haven’t had one, then perhaps—”

“Sure.” Palms it from her like a basketball and sets it in the cart next to five bananas, the only thing he’s managed to grab since they got here. “Sorry, Lucy this is Vala.”

“Nice to meet you.”

They shake hands and there’s this weird silence when they both wait for him to elaborate.

“Lucy and I used to date.” Somehow that’s the easier of the two explanations. Vala nods in understanding, mostly reading a box of Hamburger Helper clutched in her hand. So he turns back to Lucy and he doesn’t really have the words. “Vala and I are—” pauses, clearing his throat, “we’re—”

“Colonel Mitchell, was nice enough to show me a great place to grab groceries.” Vala steps in for him, peeling herself away from the directions on the box. “You see, I’ve recently just transferred here from—”

She stops talking her eyes growing wide, her mind not being able to grasp any city, country from Earth.

“Europe.” He offers loudly.

“Yes, Europe. He’s such a good teammate.”

“The best.”

“I’m glad to see you’re still a gentleman, Cam.” Lucy touches his arm and he freezes, expecting Vala to go nuclear, or at least lash out territorially, but she doesn’t just crosses her arms, leaning in against the cart. “Good luck upstairs.”

“Thanks, good luck in San Francisco.”

Lucy’s cart squeals as she makes her way to the self-checkout, and Vala knocks the Hamburger Helper box rhythmically against the cart handle to the bland music playing over the speakers.

“Listen—” Tries to explain himself before it gets too out of control.

She taps the box with her index finger. “Is Hamburger Helper a symbiotic relationship?”

He opens his mouth to answer, then thinks about her question, and the situation again, then her ass in those jeans, and then offers, “what?”

“The relationship between hamburger and it’s helper, is it a symbiotic relationship or a parasitic one?”

“I don’t know.”

The pasta within the box shakes as she examines it again, and then glances back to him. “Can we—”

“Just put it in the cart.”

They get to the check out, and as he sets items onto the conveyer belt, she starts tossing them up, a rutabaga, hamburger helper, a box of Trix cereal, egg nog, all adopted through the same method and they never did grab ground beef.

After he pays, they stand at the automatic doors. A cruel wind whistles through as people march in from the freezing weather outside. He stands with a plastic bag in each hand, always forgets to bring his reusable one which is tucked under the passenger’s seat in his jeep, and nods to the last one. “Grab it, then we don’t have to take the cart out.”

She pouts her lips, eyeing the last bag and then the red handle on the cart. “But I want to take the cart out.”

“But then we have to bring it back.”

“I’ll bring it back.”

“We only have three bags.” If they were at work, at this point he would become irritated and just take the last bag himself, leaving her to do what she wanted with the cart. But in the last month he’s gotten to know her because she lets him see things, not just what’s under her jeans, but how she works, what her methods are. Usually all it takes is the right question for the right answer. “Why do you want to take the cart.”

“Because I want to ride it across the parking lot.” Says it nonchalantly, as people swerve around her to return their carts or grab one before going into the store.

It’s very cute, the way she stands with her fuzzy white earmuffs on, and her knitted gray scarf. It’s so innocent, something she doesn’t get to be unless she’s feigning it after dropping pudding onto an Ancient text in Jackson’s lab.

But it’s too impractical. “Vala, you can’t—"

“Why not?”.

“Because we’re trying to keep a low profile—”

“All day all anyone tells me is what I can’t do—”

“So that people who know us won’t see us together—”

“‘Vala, give back Daniel’s credit cards’. ‘ _Dancing with the Stars_ is not field research’. ‘No more pudding in the lab’.” She mimics his voice, and with each example gives a stern wag of her finger.

It’s endearing, but he keeps talking anyway. “Zooming across the parking lot in a cart is a hell of a good way to get noticed—”

“Please.” Her hands clamp onto his forearm hidden under a thick padded coat and her eyes get that shimmering glisten of pre-cried tears that he hates. Expects her plea to be empty and her to try to play him the way he’s seen her play Jackson and follow it up with a suggestive remark. “Please don’t treat me that way when it’s just us. I can try to adapt to your rules, Cameron, but I’m not going to change who I am to please you.”

He pushes out the cart.

She hooks her boots into the grate below and holds the handle. People walking into the store look at them like he’s insane, and he might be because he’s giving up a lifelong career if he gets caught.

He edges his chin against her shoulder, padded by a down filled jacket with a fur trim, and warns her to hold on tight. She squeals all the way through the parking lot and when they reach his jeep she hops down and throws her arms around him, mittens wet with snow and itchy on his cheeks.

It’s the first time he thinks he saw her uninhibited in her happiness.

That night in bed, as she bounces from the bathroom across the cold hardwood floors and dives under the covers, shimmying up next to him, trying to steal his heat, he questions, “So you really didn’t care about Lucy?”

“Who’s Lucy?” She angles her head against his chest, her face scrunching as she fights to keep herself awake.

“The woman we met at the grocery store.” Rubs his hands up and down her arm to warm her because she’s always cold, always so damn cold. “She’s an ex.”

She rolls her eyes at him, then tucks her head back against his chest. Thought she would say something, even if she didn’t care, but in a few seconds he just hears her snore.

Never did care about any of his exes, or any women flirting with him, and he never asked her why. Probably because she knew he wouldn’t stray, couldn’t even if he wants to because the moment he kissed her, the moment she got him to break the rules he followed almost since birth, he was done.

Always worries about her, not her flirting because he’s seen what she can do with the right swivel of her hips, with a perfectly tailored dress, and he’s glad she has a backup weapon in her arsenal if her physical defence fails her. He’s worried because the men she toys with, the guards, and officers, and shady cons they get into business with for a cargo ship don’t see her flirtations as being harmless.

“Mitchell.”

He’s been there when they—

“Mitchell.”

And when—

“Colonel Mitchell, wake up.”

* * *

The one time his internal clock, old but reliable on routine, doesn’t wake him at 0300 is when Landry gets back to town early, catching him napping with IOA suspect MD001. They don’t get a goodbye, he doesn’t get to tell her not to worry, he doesn’t get to tell her not to try to break out because that would only make the situation worse. Doesn’t get to reassure her one more time that there’s no way anyone is taking this baby from him or her, that they’re going to have two parents, and a cloned uncle.

Instead he’s yanked up from the bed.

She was awake, was probably the one who woke him up because since returning to him from Athena, he can always distinguish the sound of her voice through all this dreams.  

Doesn’t get a chance to give a veiled threat to Woolsey, doesn’t get a chance to give a direct threat to Woolsey because Landry takes off down the hallways, people swerving out of his way. “I told you to deal with this, Mitchell.”

“To be fair, Sir—” The privates aren’t so keen in avoiding him as they are Landry, and he has to duck out of the way, then step double time to try and reclaim his position. “You did only give me a day to handle it.”

If they’ve definitely been through worse situations than this, then why does this one feel so bad.  

* * *

But then, nothing happens.

He’s sequestered to his dorm for the night and he sits thinking about the swimsuit model hanging above his hold bed at his folk’s farmhouse. Lays on top of the blanket with all of his clothes on, no beer and the Late Night Show playing on mute in the background because he doesn’t know the kid who’s on the show anyway, but if he plays up the normalcy maybe his mind can trick him into thinking she’s just off-world.

The next day he walks into Landry’s office when he’s called and he expects to be stripped of rank and dishonorably discharged, but that doesn’t happen either.

He ends up being exempt from all charges and allowed to go back to work immediately.

“What about Vala?” When Landry doesn’t answer he clarifies, “She’s been working on SG-1 for almost a decade. Can’t we—"

“Son, they shipped Teal’c back to Chulak, and Vala doesn’t have nearly as clean a file as him.”

* * *

Even with the Wonder Twins working together it still takes over two weeks to find her, and each day he gets edgier, more aggressive, less polite to Landry, to Woolsey who he sees in passing and gets closer to beating the shit out of each time.  

Swipes his pass at her room for the first week thinking maybe they’re playing hide and seek with her, moving her just as he goes to check, so he checks at different times during the day. The room is imbued with her scent and it calms him until it infuriates him and he stomps out before trashing all her stuff.

When he scans his pass at her door today, it gives him a gritty beep. He tries again and gets a gritty beep with a red light. He smashes the control panel, bruises up a few knuckles, nothing drastic, and marches down the hallway towards the meeting room.

Landry, O’Neill, and Woolsey are having some secret powwow that Sam shrugged her shoulders at this morning while they got a cup of coffee and she told him for the fourteenth day in a row that she hasn’t been able to locate one person on a military base. She might be as depressed as him, still hurting from the sudden loss of Teal’c.

He religiously checks the brig, but there’s over fifty holding cells down there, and even if the guards like him, he’d never have enough time to check them all without being caught. Then he thinks they’ve sent her to Area 51 or worse—off-world, to her home planet, a place she openly said she’d never go back to.

He tries not to break down the door, although in his mind he fireman kicks it in, and the adrenaline rush pauses in him when all three men glance his way.

“Son, you can’t be in here now,” Landry’s voice is a stern command.

“We need to talk.”

“We’re trying to talk, but you’re interrupting us,” O’Neill adds.

“She’s pregnant”

* * *

It backfires because the IOA blames her. Some sort of alien seduction technique that she pulls because hey, she used to be the God of sex and seduction, and latently reproduction and fertility. The people of Matcha probably prayed to her at some point.

Woolsey plays it all off as a ruse, that she duped him, that she’s hypersexual and he’s only a cornfed homegrown American boy who could only resist for so long. That she got pregnant to sink her claws into Earth citizenship, same shit different landmass.

His big secret gets him no time with her. Gets him no room number or location and his hands clamp at his side while the Jacksons type away on their computers trying to follow her log number through several hundred screens of locations.

“Did they take her to Area 51?” Pictures her in a closet-sized cell, dressed in the same orange coveralls she came back with when that planet, a planet he can’t even remember the name of or the reason he sent her on the mission, wanted her dead.

Everyone always wants her dead.

He just wants to take her home to the house without a front door.

“Mitchell—” Daniel One sighs and leans back in his office chair with a squeak. Daniel Two hasn’t stopped his typing or glanced up from the backlit screen. “This isn’t our forte, we’re not hackers. If you want results you need to ask—”

“Sam’s gone.” Not only has Sam jetted back to Atlantis, doesn’t blame her, since they banished Teal’c moral on SG-1 has been at an all time low. One fired to Chulak, one fired to Atlantis, and one to—

“Why did you think we would.” Daniel One crosses his arms, not in contempt but in interest, going all Lector on him, info for info.

“Because if the tables were reversed, and they have been, she would help find you.”

Daniel One doesn’t really agree or disagree, just sort of nods a bit and swivels back to his computer.

“Got it.” Daniel Two announces, pulling his glasses from his face and wiping a hand over his tired eyes. They’re still the same Jackson, still have the same experiences, just have learned from each other enough that one can interrogate him while the other actually digs up the goods and he smiles at the Hardy Boys despite himself, glad she talked him out of axing one.

“Where is she?” All three of them lean into the computer, staring at the jumbled code, the numbers that make up her name, the numbers that make up her location.

“Her last scan was almost a week ago.”

“What?”

“Her identification number was last used at the DHD in the gateroom.” Two sort of struggles with the fact, taking off and then replacing his glasses again while One runs his forefinger under the print of code that’s Vala’s signature and with a white face confirms with a slow nod.  

“Those bastards already deported her?”

“Teal’c was on the team for almost fifteen years and the cut ties with him within days. The fact that they held her so long—”

“That’s because Teal’c isn’t pregnant with a half Tau’ri baby.”

Daniel One stops moving, his arms unhooking from across his chest as he processes the information.

Daniel Two taps a finger at one of the screens, the rhythm growing quicker and more enthused as he shoots up from his chair. “They didn’t necessarily deport her.”

“What do you mean?”

“The signature and the authorization behind the DHD dial is her own.” He and One pop follow Two’s finger highlighting a particular portion of the numbers. “That’s her code.”

“So—she left on her own?” His heart sinks, thinking of her slinking down the hallways during shift change, getting lost in the crowd of privates and ducking into the gateroom.

“It seems that way.”

Then he distinctly remembers her words, her promise, that she would not let their baby be born in captivity.

That no one would take them away from her at any cost.

She did it.

“Holy shit,” he mutters to himself, half relieved that that she’s gone, but not overjoyed at the prospect of tracing her from planet to planet.  

“Wait.” Two cranks his chair around again, a confused expression on his face. “What did you say about a half Tau’ri baby?”  

* * *

Again he’s left staring at the ceiling of his mountain dorm that is the same black the rest of the room is. There’s no swimsuit pin up, no plastic glow in the dark stars, no pregnant girlfriend tucking her always frozen feet behind his knees. She’s not there to take the remote from him and tell him to stop watching the Late Night Show if all it does it make him angry, to propel him off the bed with freakishly strong legs, and to tell him, at the very least, strip off his dirty day clothes and hum in approval why he did and that’s probably why she’s pregnant now.

Only it’s not. It’s because they were on that planet, Matcha, without knowing the full rules to the game, and they snuck one in when he wasn’t looking. Was just so distracted by her not being bruised, or hurt, or screaming herself awake and disorientated at night.

She still wakes up screaming, and now she’s by herself, most likely still waking up screaming and more disorientated than ever. One planet in thousands and that’s just a drop of water in a bucket. She could be in a different galaxy. He knows her, knows her so fucking well and scared Vala will overcompensate until she thinks she’s safe.

She might not even be in this galaxy anymore.

* * *

Falls into a restless sleep because it’s been eighteen days.

Eighteen days since he saw her, held her, listened to her sing while she washes the dishes, felt her cold feet burn into the untouched skin on his legs.

Wakes on top of the covers, still wearing his fatigues from the last day, and squints at the clock across the bed which reads out 0300 because old habits die hard, and if it wasn’t for the overpowering pain in his thigh, he might have just gone back to sleep.

Would have just rolled over and missed it.

Missed her.

It’s the ruffling of clothing, of her nails scratching the bottom of his dresser drawer that pulls him back into reality, his eyes blink open and in the same movement he’s sitting up in bed, watching her search through the drawers, pulling out shirts and pants that are plain colors and without military emblems, then shoving them in a duffle bag.

“Vala?” The disbelief in his voice cuts his words short, stops him from hollering an entire sentence at her.

She peeks over her shoulder, and grins at him, standing straight, wearing one of her rogue outfits, a ruffled black shirt under a brown suede jacket and dark jeans that she has riding lower on her hips to fit. “Oh good, you’re up. Do you like your brown jacket or your black jacket more because there isn’t room for both in this bag.”

Just stares at her, because there she is, not on some crappy planet, not holed up in some shack paranoid out of her mind, not in the Pegasus Galaxy, but right in front of him.

Keeps rolling his folded clothes and stuffing them in the bag which is over half full. Yanking out the next drawer she drops the majority of his socks and boxes into the remaining space until the bag overflows. “I like you better in the brown one, but I’ve kept my brown one because it also looks better on me and I’m not sure if we’re ready to be that couple who dresses alike, although we would be rather—”

Pushes himself, cranky thigh and all, off the bed, crossing the room to where she sits on her knees in front of the dresser, rearranging the contents of the bag to fit more in. “Vala.”

Stops tugging at the zipper to her panic packing and stands when his hand touches the back of her head. Her hair is soft and wavy falling over her shoulders. There is a familiar grayness hanging under her eyes from either being overtired or from not sleeping.

Wobbles on her feet as she stands because two weeks—eighteen days has added some growth to her stomach, expertly hidden away under her shirt. “Look, if you’re not going to make a choice, I’m just going to put your brown one in here and we can deal with the ramifications of—”

Kisses her, not to silence her but so that he knows she’s really real, she’s really there. His hand cupping the back of her head, the other pressing on the cool material of her jacket, pulling her inwards. She squeaks into his mouth, before grinning and returning the kiss, then uses both hands to direct him back from her. “Darling, I—”

“I missed you.” Bows his head to hers, feels her brows knit.

“I missed you as well, but—”

“How are you feeling? How’s the baby?” Touches the soft slope of her stomach, grinning like an idiot.

“We’re both fine and desperate for your love and attention, but we’re also on a very tight schedule.” She stoops, grabbing the strap of the bag and hauling it up onto her arm, holding onto his bicep for stability. “We need to be in the gateroom in less than twenty minutes.”

“What—”

“I’ve secured us a house, away from this planet, on a planet with equal technological progression.” Sets the bag on the bed and continues to struggle with the zipper now caught on a pair of his boxers. “It’s a farm house,” speaks to him over her shoulder, her teeth clenching as she bares down with her knee to get some leverage. “Because—I know you—wanted to retire to your—family’s farm, but that—might—not—be—”

“It sounds perfect.” Kisses her cheek, and his hands replace her own, trailing back the zipper and then yanking it forward to zip the bag completely. She scrambles across the bed grabbing a few magazines, his prescriptions from the bedside table drawer, and his glasses. “How did you manage to—”

“Well because I love you and I trust you implicitly partly due to me carrying your firstborn child.” She pecks his cheek quickly to let him in on the joke, and stuffs the magazines and pills into the side pocket of the duffle. “I’ll reveal to you that I have a somewhat mouth-wateringly large sum of money stashed away for emergency purposes.”

“How large is large?”

“Well, I purchased the farmhouse outright and could do so several more times.”

“Jesus, Vala, what did you do to get—”

“The method of my money squandering isn’t of importance right now.” Starts to unbutton his fatigue shirt, leaving him a bit confused until he realizes that Tau’ri military gear probably isn’t going to pass well on the new planet. “What is important is now we need to be at the gateroom in fifteen minutes and you need to change clothes.”

His fingers pick up where she left off as she reefs the dresser drawer opening again, pulling out another plain black shirt, one he hasn’t been sweating in for over twenty-four hours, for him to change into, boxers, and a pair of jeans. “So this planet isn’t crazy about the Tau’ri or—”

“No, our new planet is fine with the Tau’ri, it’s the ones we have to travel through before that may see you as a brief threat.”

Catches the boxers she tosses him and kicks his old pants and underwear off, replacing them as quickly as possible. “Before?”

Cold fingers slip under the hem of his shirt before she tugs it off, arching an eyebrow at him in approval, then handing him the clean shirt. “We have to gate jump, Darling. Pop from planet to planet as quickly as possibly in order to throw any sneaky followers off our trail.”

“So it’s just really time consuming?”

“Yes and it works to give me a bad case of nausea.” Pulls another drawer open with her boot tip and retrieves his black jacket, tossing it to him. “Is there anything else you need?” Floats into his open arms, and leans her head briefly against his chest, taking a breath for the first time since he woke up.  “Anything you can’t possibly live without?”

“I got everything I need, Princess.”

* * *

The thief in her shows while she serpentines down the hallways, crossing over to one side in the shadows, then in archways crossing to the other, avoiding most of the cameras. Maybe it’s not the thief in her, maybe it’s the part of her that has had to break out of so many bad situations that she doesn’t feel the blame, the shame, the simmering rage he does.

The part of her where this is just natural.

Oddly enough, the gateroom is empty.

Doesn’t know how she times these things well enough to never get caught, but she did have about three years of experience skulking around the mountain at night before he started deterring her with the stars and the moon.

She pulled him through an emergency exit once, jamming her palm into the bottom of the metal bar and then tumbled like an acrobat out of the hatch. He ducked his head outside, worried that she could’ve landed the long way, but her bright smile beamed up at him. He fell out less gracefully, still half worried about getting caught, but they enjoyed the small atrium surrounded by rocks as high as they could see. The bright moon hung high above them and the peace on her face was one he’d never seen before as she pointed and told him the constellations her mother taught her.

“So what’s the gate address to this new planet?” Sets the bag down next to the DHD and pretends that she’s just not going to slink up beside him and enter in the chevron’s herself.

“It’s—” Does slink up beside him, her hip rubbing into his, but she taps at his temple. “Shouldn’t you be wearing your glasses for this?”

“Don’t start with that.”

“I’m serious, Cameron.” She stoops slanting her back forward to deal with the added weight in her front. He’s been watching her hips while she walks and every now and then she trips up, just not as balanced as she used to be. He feels bad, but the guilt fades as he enjoys the view. Eighteen days is a long time. “They might not have centralized healthcare on—”

Plucks his glasses from the side pocket, but something jumps out with them, stuck on the folded arms. It skitters across the floor just like it did in the washroom on Atlantis. Again, she stoops to retrieve it, and again, even in the nervous pounding of his heart, he checks out her ass.

“Is this—” She rolls the ring between her thumb and forefinger watching the light refract oddly off the blue gems. Then her eyes tear up to him, as she stills her fingers. “Is this the ring from—”

“Yeah, I uhh—” Rubs the back of his neck and covers the few feet between them. “I got permission to take it—”

“Why haven’t you given it to me yet?” She pouts, and it may seem like a whine, but he feels the underlying tone of hurt.

“Well, I was sort of waiting for—” Waiting for her to say yes so he could pop out that ring and surprise her. Wanted to do it in the backyard by her sunflowers that are almost taller than her now, by the barbeque he uses almost every night because she can’t get over the craving of hamburgers and ketchup. But he doesn’t know how to say it without giving away the ending, without hurting her. “I was just—”

“Oh.” She winks at him and clicks her tongue. Dropping the ring into his palm, thinks he’ll just pocket it and somewhere down the line, when they have new sunflowers and new stars, he’ll ask again.

“Ask me.”

“What?”

“Ask me again.”

“But there isn’t much spectacle to this—”

“I’ll over look the spectacle for the story.” Maneuvers his hands so he’s holding the ring out, and then raises her eyebrows.

“Okay.” Takes a deep breath because the other times were so natural that he didn’t give a second thought to the nervousness. “Vala, will—”

“Yes.”

Almost tackles him, snaking her arms up the back of his neck, into his hair, around his shoulders as her lips capture his. Eighteen days and she smells like home. Curls a hand to rest on the small of her back, careful of the either too loose or too tense muscles there. Manages to unhook her hand and slip the ring on as she backs him against the DHD. It hits his ass and he swerves, directing her to it, lifting her from the bottom of her thighs, her legs hooking around him as he sucks at the skin on her neck.

“Oh—Daniels.”

“Honey, I love you more than anything, but you cannot say his name while—”

“No.” She cups his chin in her hand and turns his head towards the doorway, where the Jacksons stand side-by-side for one last Grady Girl impression. “Daniels.”

“Don’t let us interrupt anything—”

“No actually let us.”

“You couldn’t even make it through one portal jump—”

“—before you started—”

His hand stills on her thigh as he shifts to stand a little in front of her. She can take care of herself, and it doesn’t matter anymore because he used to think that once they found each other again, then he could stop worrying about her, when that happened it changed to just needing to protect her until the baby is born, but then he’ll have another entire person to protect. This is his life now and the worrying is crippling, but he wouldn’t give it up for a damn thing.

“Look, if you two are here on the IOAs behalf—”

“They’re not.” She pats his chest and he steps back, allowing her to slip off the top of the DHD. All grins she walks towards them, nodding her head that he should follow. “They’re on our side.”

He raises his eyebrows at them. “You want us gone that badly.”

“Believe it or not—”

“—we just want you to be safe.”

Daniel One pulls out a folded list from his pocket, handing it to her. “There are twenty-three address on this paper. All of them are friendly to the Tau’ri and are developed enough that it wouldn’t be a culture shock.”

“Thank you, Darling, but we’ve found a little chalet to call home already.”

“And what happens if the SGC find you there?” Daniel Two steps forward, his eyebrows straight and serious, his voice unshaken, and he doesn’t blink. “What if Athena finds you there?”

Without breaking eye contact, she plucks the paper from between One’s fingers, doesn’t glance to it, but slides it into an inside pocket on her jacket. Her voice is softer, less sure as she whispers, “thank you.”

“Did you cross-reference it with Vala’s blackgated addresses?” Startles her a bit when he slides a hand around the small of her back, creeping in on the conversation, and maybe she isn’t even good enough to crack the brig and make it to the gateroom without help—even if she isn’t fully aware of the help.

“Oh yeah.” One scoffs and produces two more pages of gate addresses. “All of these are a no go for her.”

“What can I say?” She shrugs, but he knows her and he can still see the emotion implanted on her face, the ones she’s trying to ignore, because she’s told him before—in the afterglow of sex, in the tipsy drunk state after they both try to drink each other under the table and end up falling asleep beside each other on the bathroom floor, in the middle of the night while he holds her, or she holds him and whoever is more lucid talks the other down—that they are her family, the Jacksons are her best friends, Sam is her sister, Teal’c is the older brother who makes her feel safe, and he is her other half. “I make an impression.”

“That’s for sure.” Both Jacksons respond in unison, something they got over years ago, and both glare at each other, immediately blaming the other.

That’s what breaks her, just familiarity, safety, love. The first tear falls from her eye and he lets her hug them instead, throw her arms around both their necks catching them both in a headlock. “You are both my boys.”

“Vala—”

“It’s a little—”

“I don’t care what you do.” She’s full out sobbing against their cheeks, alternating from one to the other, her perfected mixture of nuzzling and crying. “You’ll always be good boys.”

They catch his eyes, begging for help and he shrugs, he’s not going to be the one to end this for her.

Finally, One breaks free of her with a huff, rubs the back of his neck, and sends a glare his way which he meets with another shrug.

Two manages to hold on a bit longer, first embracing the single hug, then panicking when it’s obvious she has no intention of letting go. Her hand swings out, blinding fishing for One, and he jumps out of the way, putting space between them.

“Vala, you have to go.” Two breaks free from her binding arms with a small grin and smudged glasses. His eyes are holding the same broken feeling as hers, more so than One.

As Two takes off his glasses to clean them, One offers, “Remember to take a break after five gate jumps. It’ll lower your chances of nausea.”

“Thanks guys.” It’s awkward that he still doesn’t know what to call them. After eight years they’ve sort of grown closer, but not to the point that Vala has with them. But he shakes their hands. “I’d say ‘if there’s anything I can do—’ but I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of each other soon.”

Vala creeps away behind him, putting the code into the DHD.

One holds his hand in place when he tries to end the handshake, then stares him right in the eye. “You make her happy Mitchell.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Keep her happy.” Two adds, his eyes the same menacing half-glare and he doesn’t know if it’s a request, or a suggestion, or a threat.

“Cameron, Darling.” Her voice carries in the emptiness of the gateroom, eyes large and glistening, fear and hope. “We have to go.”

The Jacksons keep to the back wall, as the sound of chevrons clunking into place drowns out her second beckoning of him. He gives them a final nod in appreciation, and walks back to her, his wife, his baby momma, the space pirate who dragged herself into the SGC eight years ago.

Takes his place beside her, watching the gate spin. The _kawoosh_ bursts forward and he remembers crossing the event horizon for the first time, and it didn’t feel anything as good as this, as memorable as this.

As important as this.

Finds her hand as they walk the ramp, toying with the ring on her finger, and together they walk into the blue.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read, I hope you enjoyed the story.   
> If your sad to see it over, I have some good news for you: the sequel is already in the works.   
> It's entitled "2 4 1" and deals with the Cam, Vala, and the Daniel clones going back to the Xerox ruins.   
> I'm aiming to have the first chapter posted by February.


End file.
